Without Conscience Remorse or Delusion of Morality
by suckittrebec
Summary: PostStD, PreGrad:After he is betrayed by Shego, Drakken sets out on a mission of revenge, intent on taking the world with him. And a gift from above gives him the tool to make this goal a reality. RS&KP & touches of RS&S. KP Crossover [with what? read it]
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own KP or anything to do with KP or Disney. Don't own anything from the other story I'm crossing over here, but for the sake of mystery I'm not going to mention the name of the series until it's revealed in the plotline.

Note: Reconned from original chapter 1, only changed one line but its kinda important.

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Chapter 1: Not Just Another Failure

"Blast you, Kim Possible!" Drew Theodore P. Lipski, better known as Dr. Drakken, screamed as he saw his latest creation, in all its evilly energy efficient glory, explode into a million pieces. He had been so certain this newest scheme of his could elude defeat at the hands of his young female adversary. His new defence network was particle based rather than his preferred laser technology (it was a matter of cost to sweetness level), a sacrifice that was necessary to nullify the utility of her compact in deflecting the deadly rays back upon the weapons or anything else in his lab. The device itself was shielded against EMP, a hard learned lesson from the disaster the media referred to as the "Little Diablo Incident." Heck, he had even, much to the horror of his fellow evil geniuses, ignored the bi-laws of the Super Villain-Villainess Union and forgone the addition of a clearly labelled self destruct button. This was of course to prevent Kimberly's bumbling sidekick, whose name continued to escape him, from ruining his plans should he find his way to the device. Everything had been accounted for, save Shego's glow power. The God of Irony continued to spit (and, Drakken was certain, expel other bodily secretions) upon even his most delicately laid plans. Everything had gone smoothly, even including the now expected arrival of the peppy heroin and the Buffoon, until the end of his customary rant.

_"__And with this __time tunnel__, I shall __travel into the past and introduce the Naco__ 50 years earlier than the fellow who created it, whoever he is, cornering the fast food market before that accursed clown even has a chance. Millions of people will eat these products, all the while consuming far more fat and carbohydrates than their body needs, leading to an obesity epidemic that will have the world on its knees by the time I return __to the future... __or is it __present? W__hatever. I will then offer a solution to this crisis in the form of Drakkano-sucktion, a method I developed which can remove sub-dermal fat deposits without the strenuous exercise or impossible diets that would otherwise be the only solution__, in exchange for the deed to the world__National governments will only be able to resist for so long while people become too lazy to work, pay taxes, or even bathe__ before they come begging for me to take the planet.__" Drakken finished, adding his maniacal laughter, signalling the end of his detailed __explanation__ of his plan (some SVVU bi-laws could not be ignored). _

_"You monster!" Kim's sidekick yelled back. "The Naco was created for good! How can you pervert its innocence into such pure evil! Why the Naco? Why!?" __Looking d__own from his raised platform, __Drakken__ saw__ Kim __holding the near frenzied __buffoon __back, while prominentl__y__rolli__ng her__ eyes. _

_"Calm down Ron. Drakken... I won't even get into how time travel is impossible, but the "obesity epidemic__" __That's __already happened. __So not the drama, t__he world is still going strong, so I seriously doubt that it will be any different with you doing it."_

_"Probably wouldn't happen at all, the way he runs fast food restaurants." Ron grumbled, shuddering at the memory of the Bueno Nacho bendy straw catastrophe. Kim continued. _

_"And Drakkano-sucktion? Seriously D__rakken, you need to get the '__net. It's called liposuction, and it's already been invented.__ Honestly, don't you come up with any of your own ideas anymore?"_

_Insulted, Drakken__ crie__d__ "Shego, seize__ them!" pointing__ bo__ldly towards the pair of __heroes.W__hen__ they weren't immediately struck down by his avenging green skinned angel__ of darkness__, he turn__ed to look at female strong arm. Drakken__ found the villainess filing her nails, seemingly oblivious to his o__rder, and evidently__ the situation entirely. "Shego! Pay attention! Do I pay you to stand around and give yourself manicures?"_

_"Come on Dr. D, can't we just skip right to the doomsday device __or whatever it is __exploding and flee to the other lair? I just got these done." She asked, not even looking up from her fingertips. He was dumbfounded._

_"WHAT?! No S__hego! You will defend the time tunnel__ in vain and... wait! You will fight the hopeless... __umm... __JUST GET THEM!!"_

_"Fine..." Shego sigh__ed, her eyes following a motion__ strikingly similar to that of her opponents as she dropped down and engaged Kimmie. "Let__'__s make this brief, princess. But if you crack one of these, mark my words, I will kill you." Drakken grabbed hold of the hand rail of his platform and considered bashing his own head in against the hardened steel bar. He instead settled to imagine himself doing it while he muttered._

_"Good help is so hard to find these days." _I must discuss team unity, and following through with responsiblies with her. It just won't do to have her openly mock me in front of those frequent unwelcome guests._ He thought, as what'__s-his-face made it to the device__'s cont__r__ol panel, finding it strangely simple and, more importantly, lock__ed__ down. Fe__el confident his device was in no danger__but remembering his new mantra of safety first, __Drakken __released the syntho-drones only as a second thought, and __allowed __his mind to drift. He wondered what he had done to earn Shego's distain in the first place._

(-) (-) (-)

_As Drakken daydreamed lazily high above the battle, Shego silently debated the __pros__ and cons of "__accidentally__" hurling a plasma bolt in his direction while she sparred with her red headed rival. His last spoken words had not fallen unheard as he may or may not have hoped, not only to the dark haired vixen but also her opponent, who was utilizing it with great effect to disturb Shego's focus.__ It was usually an even split in the verbal chess match that the two women engaged in while they exchanged physical blows, with Shego often the antagonising force, but today it was all Kimmie._

_"__How can y__ou__ for rea__l,__ still work for him, Shego?" Kim taunted, __dodging a plasma infused swipe. __"No other job offers?"_

_"Shut it princess. You know I've worked with other people."_

_"__Well __I __can't __say I __blame you for picking blue boy over SSJ__, but it really__ says it all when the only ones willing to employ you are so low on the intellectual pecking order__. But who knows how much it could do for your resume__ if you decided to take your martial arts up past white-belt__? With a new job, maybe you could__even __afford__ to go shopping for a decent wardrobe." __Growling dangerously, Shego completely disguarded any attempt at conservative offence and enacted a series of extremely aggressive strikes that, while driving her foe __back through sheer force and ferocity, left her terr__ibly exposed to any number of vicious__ counters. One such physical rebuttal__ made its way through the __buffer__ zone created by a furious__ plasma storm combined with a cyclone of razor sharp claws, __and the low crescent kick sent the green skinned woman unceremoniously to the floor. Not halting for a moment, Shego regained her feet and returned to her __brazen__ assault. _

_Settling into a strange re-imagination of Mohammad Al__i's famed __'__rope-a-dope__'__, but in __17 styles of kung fu rather than boxing, Kim dodged the unplanned, and therefore unthreatening if very impressive looking sequence of attacks. She was even able to sneak a glance at Ron, who was holding his own against the group of syntho-drones that had converged on him. Making full use of their stupidity, the blonde had created an almost circus like mosh pit of flailing red and black limbs, w__hich he deftly dived and looped around to add to the confusion__. His proficiency pleased his girlfriend, who was finding herself more and more impressed with him with every passing day, in many facets of their relationship__, some far more personal than this__. After a few more moments of avoidance and a few well placed retro-active attacks, inspirations struck the red head. Thinking creatively, Kim began to manoeuvre herself around so she was backpedalling towards the staircase that lead to where Ron was tying up the loose ends of a cartoon like ball of the bodies of the syntho-drones, whose limbs had now become fully entangled. Predictably, the still out of control villainess followed blindly, not taking her surroundings into account. At the bottom of the stairwell, Kim feigned a misstep, __and "fell" to the ground. Grinning triumphantly, Shego stopped the mad whirlwind of fists and stood over her prone foe__, grinning_

_"Now who's __the__ white-belt Kimmie?" She asked, as she began to charge her glow-power in anticipation of a knock out strike. Looking past her, Kim's eyes met Ron's, and years of friendship communicated her intent just as well as spoken word. __Feeling the need to further unbalance her opponent, Kim made one last verbal jab before enacting her plan._

_"__Good job Shego. B__ut this still doesn't do anything about__ you being the one nobod__y wants to pick for their team o__n the villain's playground__ or__ your atrocious fashion sense."__ This wiped the smile from the older woman's face and replaced it with a cruel frown. She raised the now massive green aura above her head in an exaggerated gesture. The two emerald sets of eyes met for a moment, and Kim sprung her trap._

_"Now Ron!" She cried. Wasting no time, her boyfriend and partner placed a solid kick into the center of the mass of syntho-drones__. Like a pin-ball made of synthetic __flesh, it rolled down the parallel hand-rails of the stairwell, and slammed into Shego's unprepared form. The raven haired woman had spun around in confusion at her opponent's statement, and took the blow head on. She was bowled over, Kimberly just managing to leap from under her falling body__, and the supercharged orb of plasma flew away from her hand. _

_Ron had to leap off of the platform to avoid being engulfed in the ball of energy and landed hard on the cement floor of the lair__ as the blast slammed into Drakken's device__He raised his head, scanning the chamber. __For his part, __the blue skinned doctor__ was slammi__ng his head against his hand-rail.__Shego was struggling out of the pile of squirming henchmen, and Kim was sauntering towards her slowly, in no rush to re-engage. Ron took a moment to enjoy the unintentional swinging action of his best friend's hips, an activity he found himself partaking in far more often now that they were officially dating. __And he grinned as Kim__ made the painfully obvious comment about __Shego's alleged days as an adult film star. __As appealing as Kim's backside was __and as in-__stride she was in the burn-__adge__ of her rival, however, Ron could not spare__ his gaze __or his humour __for very long.__T__he time tunnel demanded immediate __attention._

_ Even with all the __e__ffort__ Drakken had put into the research and development of the portal, it could not withstand the strange combination of thermal __energy and momentum__ that interacted within the powers granted to Shego by the Rainbow Comet. The control consol that Ron had been standing at just seconds before was nothing but a charred __and sparking __shadow of its former__ precision lines and the ring itself was now __arc__hing __with a bizarre __violet__ energy. Whatever it signified, the tunnel__ seemed to be activate__d, and__i__n its death throes, the machine reached out to a random time and location, __drawing__ something into it before it failed. _

_With an odd popping noise what was very disappointing considering the auditory delights that sci-fi had prepared Ron for in such an event, a body was violently thrown from t__he center of the portal. It lay__ on the ground for a moment before rising, revealing the body of a __hum__an __male __in his mid to late 20s__his face__ adorned__ by an unkempt 5 o'clock shadow. __He wore urban camouflage, covered by __armour__ that Ron could not identify. Atop his head rested a helmet of a much more familiar design, very similar to that worn by the __contemporary Marines, but an integrated camera and communication device distinguished it once again from anything in current use. In his hand__s__ rested a large machine gun, but judging from his decision to throw it aside and withdraw his sidearm, its ammunition was expended. __His most distinctive __feature,__ however__ was his torso. The armour was shredded with long__ jagged__ gouge__s that reached into__ his __flesh__, and blood ran freely down most of his chest__. On top of__ that, certain areas of his __p__ecs, as __well as his limbs w__ere in an even more disturbing state, the only description that approached a__ccuracy was to say that his skin had been __"melted". He shakily panned the__ handgun between all the possible targets in the room, from the now motionless syntho-drones and Shego, to the cautiously moving Kim and still thrashing Drakken.__ From the spastic__manner his gesticulations took, it was obvious he was in a monumental amount of pain, so much so that the fact that he remained standing spoke to __either an__ unbelievable level of__ pain tolerance, or the amount of fight-or-flight hormones flowing in his veins.__ After a long moment, he finally spoke in a frantic voice._

_"What the fuck is going on?" _

_Before anyone could respond however, the increasingly violent vibrations that ran through the time tunnel finally became too much for its structure, and it shattered with a resounding boom. All of the original inhabitants of the room were outside of range of the shrapnel, but the soldier that had just appeared took the full force __of the explosion __in his back. __He was once again thrown forward__, and judging from the impact tremors the pieces of the ring created when they impacted the surrounding structure, the man should have been dead before he hit the ground. But__ inexplicably,__ he stood after he recovered from th__e shock of the blast, around him__ the fragments of the ring imbedding themselves in the cement__ floor__ in deep, smoking gashes. His gun throw__n__ away in his fall, the already panicked man glanced around hysterically before spotting the exit. Without a second to consider his options, __he bolted__, and was out the door before anyone could react. _

_Kim examined the__ situation. Drakken's plans would be__ at __the very __least severely hindered with the destruction of his time __tunnel__ and an obviously distraught and injured man had been drawn int__o this mess without any prior involve__ment. Her choice was clear, and s__he took off after the soldier, calling to Ron to follow. They reached the exit as Drakken began screaming in frustration._

Back in the present, Drakken continued to mimic a statue as the lair began to collapse around him. Shego, enraged at her employer's failure, but not anxious to find herself without her any source of income, was forced to hoist his unmoving form over her shoulder and carry him to the hover car before they were trapped within the fortress.

(-) (-) (-)

A few minutes later, after they were airborne and far away from the lab, Shego's suppressed anger finally broke through in the cab of the hover car. Drakken, true to his reputation of an emotional resilience that bordered on the psychopathic, had nearly immediately begun talking about his next project. It was almost as if the seconds old failure had never happened, that the humiliation of defeat was nothing more than a daydream and Dr. Drakken still had a perfect record against any and all do-gooders. It was more due to this obliviousness than the sting of the actual defeat that finally overwhelmed Shego and pushed her to voice her frustrations. It seemed that he really didn't care if they won or lost, and half of her was infuriated by his apparent lack of commitment to the pursuit of world domination. The other half was jealous and threatened by his ability to shrug off the metaphorical anchors of trouncing after trouncing and start anew in a way that the outwardly prideful and secretly self–conscious ego of the villainess could not. It was disturbing to her that he might be in fact capable of superior emotional adaptation in this matter, as in all others he was so poorly equipped it was a wonder he could juggle breathing and walking at the same time without falling to the turf and suffocating. So in reaction to both her anger at his perceived failing and her own disbelief that she could have underestimated him turned outwards, she decided to verbally beat some reasonably self-recriminating thoughts through his thick skull.

"Dr. D, you do realise we were just defeated in under 15 minutes, right? At this rate, pretty soon Kimmie isn't even going to have time to arrive before the next one of your hair-brained ideas goes haywire and burns the lair to the ground. Are you ever going to get past this whole 'never able to get anything even remotely right' phase and actually accomplish something, or are you trying to get written into the Guinness Book of World Records for the most failed attempts at taking over the world?"

"Don't worry, next time there will be no stopping us! Now, listen to me. I will need you to procure..."

"No! You listen to _me _Drakken," Shego said, cutting him off. "Don't you get it? You never learn from your mistakes! How are we going to beat little Miss Perfect when you just regurgitate the same whack plan, minus a few insignificant details?"

"Now, Shego, what have I told you about hurting with your words? As your employer, I am entitled to a measure of respect, and it's time we talked about your refusal to grant me that. For long enough I have put up with your insubordination, and if this continues I might decide you're not worth the trouble anymore. Why are you being so rebellious?!" Shego, already on edge, snapped at his ignorant pronouncement.

"You want to know why? I'll tell you why! You're a moron! If it wasn't for all these fruitlessly squandered years I've spent observing, no, _living_ your stupidity, I wouldn't be able to believe that you don't realise how futilely useless you are! I know you can count your IQ on one hand, but doesn't it resonate within the empty confines of your skull that you can't even outsmart a ditzy teen-aged girl and her half-witted boyfriend?! You're a disgrace to the business. And you know what the worst part is? You're not even evil! Any fool can make himself morally corrupt! It takes a special kind of complete and utter idiot to fail at that, but you pulled it off! You've managed to dedicate the last 20 years of your laughable life to an easily attainable ethical goal, and fall short! I'm done working for someone who'll never amount to anything, except a useless, worthless joke. The times come for a change, Drakken." The evil doctor was momentarily speechless, not expecting the bold-faced reprisal. Finally, he replied.

"Well, if that's how you feel, maybe it would be best if you got out of my hover car." Shego laughed darkly.

"Nothing ever changes. Like always, you're missing one tiny detail Drewbie. I'm driving." And with that, Shego punched her boss across the jaw, driving him through the passenger side door and to the ground below. Sneering, she accelerated into the darkness ahead of her.

(-) (-) (-)

The unprepared super villain crashed into the ground in a heap, where he remained for several uninterrupted minutes while he considered all the various different words in the English language that described pain. After he had run through the virtual dictionary that existed in his head, and found nothing that could adequately describe the feelings that existed in his soft tissue, he finally stood. Looking to the sky with his ego expecting Shego to be speeding back towards him, he was disappointed to find his hover car nowhere within sight. Disbelieving his luck, but grudgingly adapting, Drakken began trudging to the highway he had noted during their flight. Upon reaching the blacktop, Drakken fought with his pride for a few moments in the shadows of the ditch before erecting himself and sticking his thumb out in the near-universals sign of the hitch hiker. The vast majority of the passing traffic did not even slow for the blue skinned individual, which was unsurprising considering that very fact. In that light, the doctor was shocked when a beautiful piece of automotive machinery slowed and pulled over to the shoulder. Cautiously approaching the passenger window, wary of the many a slasher flick that began in such a way, Drakken waited as the window slid down. A thick Californian surfer accent greeted him, and the flair of greasy blonde hair in the mullet style put Lipski's fears to rest.

"What's up cuz?! What are you doing out here, seriously?!" Ed Lipski bellowed.

"Ed, you have no idea. Can you give me a ride?"

"Sure, man. Where to?"

"Just a few miles north."

"Well, hop in! I'll have you there faster than you can say 'Texas armadillo', seriously!" Drakken climbed into the cab, barely having a chance to buckle his seat belt before his grease-monkey cousin gunned it, and tore off into the night.

(-) (-) (-)

About an hour and a half later the pair arrived outside the imposing stone walls that formed the frontal facade of Drakken's emergency hide-out. Slamming Ed's passenger door closed, he called his thanks through the open window, and walked towards his secondary home as his relative took back to the road.

_Shego is going to get it for abandoning me in the middle of no-where. _The irate man thought as he entered the building. He had noted the darkness in the windows, but had assumed that his currently less than favourite ally had gone to sleep. Upon entering, however, the absolute silence that assaulted him spelled out a different story.

"Shego!!" He called out, more to comfort himself than to provoke a response. There was of course no answer, and although he was hardly the bravest individual, as his previous miss-adventures had proven, he advanced into the pitch black corridors of the building. Despite the oddity that the motion sensors did not activate the lair's lighting system, he made his way to the central hall of the lab, casting himself onto the couch that sat before the main viewer. Or, he would have if the viewer or the couch were still in the room. Presently, the blue madman found himself roughly landing on the floor for the second time in one evening, without so much as a throw cushion to soften his fall. Hauling his brutalized frame from the cement ground, he took a moment to examine the room in more detail. The results did not please him. The room, once adorned with more consoles, gleaming stainless steel devices and exotic objects that served no purpose other than to satisfy the "prerequisite technological atmosphere" of a lair dedicated to evil science than you could shake a death ray at, was now completely bare. Dashing out of the master chamber, Drakken darted around the other rooms that held his secret projects, half built devices, and plans for future schemes. Finding all these critical elements missing, Drakken ran to the kitchen, hoping against hope that his most prised possession had been spared this horrendous kleptomanical fate. But, to his dismay he found the counter as bare as the walls of the antechamber, his precious coco moo machine cruelly taken from him. His mind whirled at the realisation that he was now effectively persona non-grata when it came to the ability to project any power over the world. It did not make any sense. Certainly the devices would have fetched cash if torn down on the regular market, but his designs? Valueless unless in the hands of a suitably ingenious individual.

Suddenly, a glimmer of an explanation came to the blue skinned scientist. Shego had taken them, possibly under orders by a new employer. Drakken knew of many rivals that would love to have both gained a literal warehouse full of doomsday devices and designs and relieved him of that very advantage in one fell swoop. The formulating rationalization cleanly explained everything else as well, from the woman's absence, which he had confirmed in his search of the building, to the lack of signs of forced entry and fact that the defences had not been tripped. That his other henchmen where no-where to be found, and that his weakness, the coco machine, had been exploited. There was only one gesture that was strong enough to articulate the maelstrom of emotions that ran through the doctor's head, and Drakken removed his black laboratory gauntlets, throwing them to the disgustingly cheerful linoleum floor below. He stalked off to no place in particular, running his rarely bare hands through his hair, looking to the ceiling as if it might reveal an answer to the vexing situation he now found himself in. In doing so, he spied something attached to the roof of the hallway that he had not notice before. He cranked his neck awkwardly in an attempt to identify it.

It appeared to be some sort of digital clock that was currently counting down from around 6 seconds. The strangely positioned device was imbedded in a thick white semi-solid substance, and in realising just what it was, Drakken's heart skipped several beats. With less than 4 seconds left on the timer mounted to a brick of plastic explosive the size of his head, Drakken tore off down the hallway towards the exit with more zeal than a shark drawn toward an overturned bucket of fish guts. It was a hopelessly long dash for an Olympic athlete to complete in 3 seconds and change, much less the out of shape evil genius who had always said that the only muscle that mattered was in his skull when Shego had poked fun at his pudgy frame. What he would have given to paid heed to her suggestions to hit a tread-mill once in a while, but unfortunately he was short a time machine, a'la the evening's earlier events, and the clock hit zero unhindered. The fractions of a second that it took for the explosion to propagate behind him granted Drakken the time to grasp the doorknob and turn it just enough to allow the door to fly open as he was smashed into it rather than hold firm, and he was shot out of the building within a torrent of fire like a bullet from the barrel of a gun.

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Any guesses on who the soldier is? R&R please. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own, nor do I wish or intend to infringe upon the copy-rited materials owned by Disney and the crossover's other franchise, which will remain nameless until it is revealed in the plot of the story. Said plot, however, is mine.

Like I said in my other story, sorry for taking so long putting this up. Other commitments, real life and all. You all know how it is.

Enjoy, and review please.

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Chapter 2: Repercussions 

After the shockwave passed overhead and the blast of heat dissipated, Drakken slowly picked himself off the ground. His back muscles protested painfully, already strained from his fall from the hover car when the explosion's concussive force lifted him off the pavement and arched his spine in smashing him through the lab doorway. The skin on his back pained him as well, his suit burnt into the flesh in places by the ensuing stream of flame that had followed him out of the lair. His palms and face were scraped and bruised from his landing, his eyes watered from a combination of the acrid smoke that now filled the air and the dirt which was driven under his eyelids during his face plant. And on top of all that, from the extreme pain in his head the doctor judged himself to have a minor concussion as well. But for all his physical injury, it was his emotional anguish that tore at him deepest. Shego had disrespected him, berated him, abandoned him, betrayed him, and attempted to kill him. Alone, any of these actions might have been just a regular occurrence, what made it inescapably different was that all these reactions took place within a few hours of each successive act. Shego had always been content to merely beat him to within an inch of his life, or verbally assault him to the point where his only escape was to regress to the awareness level of a newborn. But no more. The pure cruelty of her words, far different from the usual irritated smart-mouth rebukes, still ate at him, as ravenously as the wildfire consuming the remains of his lair.

_Our lair... A_ particularly distraught neuron amended, sending another throb of painful angst through the blue man's body. That thought lead to another, and soon the burning wreckage of the laboratory took on an almost morbidly appropriate symbolic value, a funeral pyre for his and Shego's relationship, professional or otherwise.

_Why? _Was all the vocabulary the villain's mind could muster. Was he truly so valueless, so pathetic that years and years of working in close proximity to him could not develop any loyalty, any basic emotional tolerance? Could he be disposed of so trivially, without a second thought, when a new, more attractive opportunity came up? He could understand Shego leaving him. Beneath his arrogant, self-serving veneer existed the same young man that had built robotic dates for his friends in college, someone more sensitive and understanding. The young Drew Lipski had been a giving person, someone who had placed incredible value and belief in the abilities of his friends. Being the load bearing wall of his evil façade, this portion of his psyche knew that Shego could do better than him, that she could do truly incredible things if not anchored by his ineptitude. But he could not reconcile that the closest thing he could pin to a friend would so causally try to kill him. He was shallow, infantile, and had on more than one occasion taken her for granted, but he had cared for her, forgiven her for her nearly constant outbursts of carelessly hurtful comments, and had even saved her (or tried to) whenever she was truly in need of rescuing.

_"You're a moron! If it wasn't for all these fruitlessly squandered years I've spent observing, no, _living_ your stupidity, I wouldn't be able to believe that you don't realise how futilely useless you are! I know you can count your IQ on one hand, but doesn't it resonate within the empty confines of your skull that you can't even beat a ditzy teen-aged girl and her half-witted boyfriend?! You're a disgrace to the business. And you know what the worst part is? You're not even evil! Any fool can make himself morally corrupt! It takes a special kind of complete and utter idiot to fail at that, but you pulled it off! You've managed to dedicate the last 20 years of your laughable life to an easily attainable ethical goal, and fall short! I'm done working for someone who'll never amount to anything, except a useless,_worthless_ joke." _The re-playing of Shego's tirade made Drakken shudder. At the time, his mind had denied it, even if he was so shocked that he could not voice his disputal. However, for the first time in decades his defensive monologue, that which maintained his masquerade as the emotional equivalent of Teflon, was gone, as if the impact with the ground had knocked it into silence. He knew she was right; that he was destined to remain nothing, as he had began, as he was now. Not since Jim Possible and his other former friends had completed his isolation in college had he felt so alone, had his life seemed so empty and meaningless. A lone tear made its way down his cheek, only to be lost in the caked on blood that was tacked to his face.

_Well, it would be a shame to make Shego's first new mission a failure._ The miserable villain thought, approaching the flaming rubble still before him. _It looks like irony is against me, yet again. _He took a deep breath, and prepared to finish what she had started. It was the least he could do for her, after all the years she had wasted with him. Before he could act on those depressed thoughts, however, the rumble of a big block engine shook the ground. Drakken turned, and raised his hand to deflect the glare of the car's headlights. The vehicle quieted, and the glow died as the driver opened the door to step out. The larger man walked towards the blue wreck, cautiously stepping around the smouldering fragments of the building. He gazed out over the scorched earth, then towards the hunched, feeble looking figure before him.

"I turned around as soon as I saw the explosion Drew. What happened? Are you alright?" Edward Lipski asked his cousin, showing concern that he rarely felt comfortable extending, even to his own flesh and blood. But seeing Drakken's agonized features, he could tell that this was not simply another disastrous failed experiment, and blood was thicker than pride.

"I don't think so, Ed. Not this time." Drakken replied, his voice so small that Ed had to strain to hear him over the still licking flames. This shocked the motor head. Whatever worry that the pain on Drakken's face had inspired was increased ten-fold by the uncharacteristically wretched tone of his voice. Ed asked his cousin again.

"What happened? Where's the green babe?" Mentioning Shego drew a violent flinch from the doctor. He turned suddenly, feeling tears welling up in his eyes, and despite his shredded pride, or perhaps because of it, he grasped the few fragments which remained with him. When he had gathered himself again, he spoke.

"Sh-Shego... has... found new employment opportunities. Opportunities, it would seem, that require my... elimination."

"Seriously... I've heard about rough breakups, but this is something else." Ed whispered, stepping forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with his kin, who was looking out over the still expanding sea of flames.

"Yes, Ed. This is something else entirely." Drakken agreed, his head sinking to his chest as he slowly shook it in sorrow. Knowing the blaze would not go unnoticed, Ed fidgeted uncomfortably at his cousin's static pose.

"Umm, cuz, we should get moving. Smokey is going to be on this place like a pack of dogs on a three legged cat."

"Colourful, Ed. But I don't care anymore. Right now, I'd welcome one of the capital sentences I have on my head. Just go. Let me be alone."

"Come on Drew, it's not like this is the first time you've lost a girlfrie..." Ed stopped himself, too late to prevent the new dimension of inadequacy from reaching his cousin. Drakken sighed heavily, and began to again approach the flames. Scrambling, Eddy amended himself. "Wait. Before you go all MCR on me, let me show you how a man deals with this." This drew a sneer from Drakken, but he stopped his self-propelled funeral march.

"If Shego were here, she'd laugh at you for calling me a man."

"But she's not. Usually that's enough to prove to me that the girl's opinion isn't worth jack. But if she has you convinced that you aren't a man, consider this you first lesson in taking back your masculinity." Ed countered. Then he smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "Give me one night, and if you're still convinced life isn't worth living tomorrow, I'm sure GJ will still pick you up and put you away."

Drakken stood idle for a moment, considering his relative's offer. He had to admit he was right, Global Justice would be just as inclined to arrest him tomorrow, and truth be told, casting himself to a fiery end wasn't the most comfortable way to go. Ed motioned with his hand, and while he doubted his mind would be changed, Drakken nodded. He looked at the remains of the lair one last time, the charred remnants of his life, and followed his cousin to the car. As the engine roared to life and Ed peeled out, Drakken whispered, so low it was only audible to himself.

"Goodbye Shego." They disappeared over the edge of the horizon as the flash of red and blue announced the arrival of the authorities and news crews.

(-) (-) (-)

Completely ignorant to the life changing emotional drama being played out just a few dozen miles away, Team Possible continued their pursuit of the violently confused man dressed in the exotic-looking armour. Despite the impressive gashes and the strange burns that covered a fair portion of his torso and limbs, the apparent soldier maintained an almost superhuman pace through the thick brush and foliage that extended around Drakken's recently abandoned fortress. He had a lot to be disorientated about, even if he wasn't aware of the particulars, being so hopelessly displaced in both space and time, and becoming so before his brain could conceive the change. He had literally been in one place at one moment, and then instantly appeared in another. The mind simply cannot deal with such a ferocious modification of reality, and will continue on as if it was still in the previous situation in spite of any evidence to the contrary until it can sort out the pseudo-insanity rationally. Unfortunately, rationality could not enter into the equation as this man's state of affairs stood right now. Unbeknownced to the teenaged duo, this insatiable stamina was born out of the absolute and unremitting terror that gripped ever fibre of the poor man's being. The frantic rush of adrenaline that he had emerged from the portal with continued unabated, his mind consumed with one fanatical desire. To put as much distance between himself and that place as biologically, chemically, mechanically, physically, philosophically, intellectually and in any other meaningful and meaningless way possible. That was, until he found either a room with sufficiently wide steel reinforced walls or a suitably large and fast firing weapon, somewhere between a .50 calibre machine gun and a Howitzer, ideally a combination of both. It did not matter, unsurprisingly it did not even compute, that he now found himself so far away spatially that his dash was by all accounts completely irrelevant, nor that chronologically he was now hundreds of years before the source of his fear had even existed. He acted on complete instinct now, and instinct instructed him to flee. Only when he found a place where he felt comfortable would his reasonable mind reassert itself, and could he judge which perceptions were to be believed and which ones were no longer valid. Then, and only then, could his consciousness accept this new reality.

"Wait! Sir, we don't mean you any harm! Please..." Kim was cut off as an unseen branch clipped her face. She had been calling out to him for most of her pursuit, trying in vain to get him to stop his needless flight, but he had yet to have paid her declarations of friendship any heed.

_Starting to get sick of this. _The young heroin thought venomously, as she ducked under another obscured grouping of twigs. Her hair took a moment longer to follow her head, and managed only to tangle itself amongst the mass of leaves. Unprepared for the sudden onset of pain she had scarcely felt since Ron had gotten over the elementary school inclination to pull hair in a losing play-fight, the relatively unimposing force was enough to pull her off her feet. Rattled, and undeniably frustrated at this pointless expenditure of energy, Kim did not immediately spring back to a running stance, but instead sat herself up, and ran her fingers through her now ruinous locks of flame red hair. However, her make-shift comb became immersed in a thick sticky substance with the first stroke, and she was forced to withdraw. Wiping the sap that was now integrated into her once immaculate swath of hair off her hands, Kim's mood took on a dangerously dark tone. In all of her adventures, not once had her pride and joy been so brutally assaulted, and her concern towards the man immediately transformed into anger.

_SO done with this. _She fumed as Ron, who was trailing her by a few yards, finally caught up. Sensing the stark contrast in her disposition, he hesitantly placed his hand on her shoulder and asked the obvious question.

"What's the matter Kim?" His soothing voice and the calming tactile connection almost immediately cooled the coals of her retribution; such was one of the effects of his essential Ron-ness. However, another crept up out of no-where when he noted the gooey knots that now inhabited Kim's hair, and destroyed the damage control he had just seconds before applied. "What happened to your hair?"

Not even bothering to answer, the young woman stood, shrugging of the now ineffectual physical link.

"This just changed from a rescue into a search and destroy mission." She said, not to anyone in particular, and she took off again after her target at a positively blistering pace. Not that she had not been committed to catching him before, but now it was personal. Left hopelessly behind, even with his new-found skill as a running back, Ron did not even try to match her velocity. Taking up a light run, he could not help but comment to Rufus.

"I don't know what had him so spooked before, but I sure hope he keeps running, 'cause now he really is in trouble."

"Hnk-hnk, Uh huh." Rufus replied, nodding his head solemnly. The rodent felt sorry for the man already.

At her new tempo, even the man's primal run for survival could not overcome the near-perfect physical conditioning of the much younger cheerleader, and Kim began to close the distance between them. She did not speak, and completely ignored the irritating scratching action of the tree branches; the teen was solely focused on catching her prey. The hero was almost in full combat mode right now, and this could truly be a frightening prospect, although it still paled in comparison to the dreadful thing that the soldier was trying to escape. Soon, Kim could see the disturbance against the trees that the man was leaving in his wake. Rapidly his indistinct form began to sharpen, and the grotesque wounds that crisscrossed his back, cut right through the armour that had been unscathed by the explosive fragmentation of Drakken's time machine once again became clear.

_What could have done that? _Kim thought against her anger. As quickly as it had come, the rage at her disturbed hair-do lost its edge against the obvious trauma suffered by the focus of her wrath, and she suddenly felt very stupid and self-centered for considering her relatively minor problem worth punishing the man. The streaks of crimson lifeblood that was left on everything he came in contact with further ingrained her shame, and she began to slow at the loss of her infuriated drive. In any event, pursuit was no longer a problem, as the run had lead the man into a clearing bordered on both sides by impassable foliage and ahead by a sheer precipice. The soldier at least had enough presence of mind to halt his sprint, and he stood at the very edge, looking down over it to the river that flowed scores of feet below. Glancing back for the first time since the race had begun, he saw the red flair of sap-soaked hair that was slowing its hunt of him.

Kim thought that her quest was finally over, and that faced with the fact that running was no longer an option, her objective would finally be willing to listen to her. She was dead wrong. Still lost in the world that he had emerged from centuries from now and light-years away from here, there was only one choice for the man. He turned back around, and with an enthusiasm that Kim could not understand, dove over the cliff. With scarcely enough time to shout in her shock, Kim accelerated to a speed that doubled the pace she had run at in anger, and whipped her hairdryer-grappling hook from its holster. She reached the edge, took aim faster than she had believed even possible for a Possible, and let the grappler's lead fly. It streaked towards the plummeting form of the strange soldier at a speed that seemed woefully inadequate, but managed to snag him before he made contact with the rocks obviously visible just a few inches under the surface of the water. The line snapped taunt, and the two hundred plus pounds of accelerated mass jolted the heroin forward over the edge, but expecting this she was able to grab the ledge and hold on, much to the protest of her taxed muscles. She looked down in time to see the man's head slam into the cliff face with bone crunching force, his helmet having fallen clear of his head in his insane jump. It was a blessing in disguise, for if he had remained conscious he would have struggled against the bond that now was the only thing separating him from death with the same abandon that he had sprinted away from Drakken's lab. And extraditing himself from the length of the grappler wire coiled around his ankles would have been the best case scenario, the worst being removing Kim's own grip on the ledge, sending both of them plummeting to the rocks below.

Ron, hearing the cry of his high school sweet-heart and best friend, had immediately advanced his jog into a sprint that would have impressed any NFL scouting team, and arrived in time to take hold of the now static line attached to the hair dryer, and allowed Kim to lift herself back onto the ground above. He activated the retraction function on the grappling hook as Kim pulled out her Kimmunicator, and dialled Wade. Not even waiting for the youth's customary greeting, she began issuing orders as soon as his face appeared on the screen.

"Wade, get Global Justice. We need an emergency medical EVAC. NOW!" Slighted, but hearing the urgency in her voice, Wade complied without protest, his fingers racing over his keyboard. He only spoke after the request had been sent and replied to.

"They're on their way Kim. I sent them your homing signal, and they said they should be there in a less than 5 minutes. Is it Ron?" Hearing the clear intonation of worry, the blonde laughed in spite of the seriousness of the situation.

"No, Wade. I'm fine, but thanks for the concern." This response gained a rare look of confusion from the young computer genius on the other end of the line.

"Then who is it?" He asked.

"Long story Wade. I'll explain later. Keep me posted on GJ's progress, please and thank you." Kim replied, a small part of her general demeanour re-asserting itself.

"Will do, Kim." Wade answered, and closed the connection. By now the cable had fully retracted, and Kim helped Ron haul the beaten and still form of the terrified man over the lip of the cliff. They laid him out a few feet away from the edge, and lost to any other action, simply watched the slow shallow exhalations of the unconscious soldier until, right on time, the Global Justice supersonic VTOL aerial ambulance roared overhead. Landing quickly, GJ's paramedics hastily loaded the casualty onto a gurney and lifted off again, leaving the pair of hero's behind to await a more conventional transport chopper. The procedure was done with amazing efficiency, the ground not even warmed by the jet wash between the landing and takeoff.

Finally allowed to feel emotion again, Kim stood for a few seconds lost in thought before collapsing into Ron's unexpecting embrace. Quivering, she explained what tore at her.

"Ron, he saw how shallow the water was. He would have known there was no way he could have lived through that fall. What would make someone do that? I don't understand Ron." The blonde, knowing of only one possible motivation that could force him to play his cards in such a way, a threat to that which he currently held in his arms, could only shake his head in incredulous sorrow.

"I don't know KP. I just don't know. And to be honest, I don't think I'd want to." He tightened his grip on her for a moment, and slowly lowered her with him into a sitting position. There was nothing to do but wait for the helicopter and mull over the disturbing chain of events they had just borne witness to.

(-) (-) (-)

The night manager of an unknown interstate truck stop motel handed the key to a room to the new, somewhat suspicious looking patron. They wore a long green trench coat and a wide brimmed black fedora, which hid their face. The long shinning black locks of hair and voice hinted at femininity, but the coat obscured confirming attributes, and from the tone of the traveller's speech, the man inferred that inquiries would most likely not be appreciated. So he had merely rented her a room, asking no questions. He was used to seedier elements utilizing his establishment anyway. The clawed hand that swiped the key from his waiting grasp grazed his wrist just enough to convey the razor sharpness of its edges, solidifying his silence. The stranger left the motel office without a second glance, heading towards the allotted room. Upon reaching 209, Shego unlocked and opened the door, swiftly stepped in and closed the brittle piece of particle board in one smooth motion. She secured the deadbolt, and turned to survey the suite. She was surprised that the room was only in a slightly revolting state of disrepair, though she dare not venture into the bathroom unless absolutely necessary. The walls were adorned with yellowing wall paper which was peeled in several places, its windows were smoke-stained and the curtains sun bleached; the furniture consisted of a twin bed dressed in a drab fleece comforter and two lumpy pillows, a rickety looking chair and table set, and a small TV sitting atop a worn dresser at the foot of the bed. It was by no means 2 stars, but compared to some of the hovels she had been forced to use in her lifetime, it was almost welcoming. Removing her hat, but not bothering with the coat, Shego let herself fall backwards onto the bed, not shocked to find the mattress hard and uneven.

_Them's the breaks, princess. _She thought to herself. _It'll be worth it to teach that inconsiderate blue tool how well he'd do without me. _She sighed heavily. Sometimes he could be so infuriatingly dense that it took a huge shock to his system to bring him back in line. She had never taken it as far as she had tonight, but he deserved what he got.

_I just wish I could see the look on his face when he makes it back to what's left of the lair. _The villainess thought to herself with a dark smile. She made sure she put enough explosives within the building to completely level it, to illustrate the violence of her mood. And while she had been quite irritated, to put it mildly, she had taken the time to remove his precious doomsday devices, inventions, and coco machine ... she wasn't completely sadistic, nor did she want to have to pay to replace everything. For a moment she felt a pang of guilt for how badly she had criticized him, but it was over-ridden in short order.

_Careful girl, you're starting to sound like you actually care what he thinks about you. _ The raven haired woman chided herself. Growing board of her private musings, Shego grasped the TV remote and turned the display on. It took a moment to warm up, a result of being older than circa 1987 and cheaper than the cable it received, (assuming, of course, it was paid for) but had a decent picture once running. The villainess tapped the 5 digit code for the Villain News Network's secret channel into the remote, and twisted around to stack the soggy pillows so her head would be supported. As she turned back to the screen, only slightly more comfortable, she grinned as she recognized the lead story as her night's handy work. An airborne camera, most likely mounted on a model helicopter or miniature hovercraft, gave a bird's eye view of the carnage below. By now the fire had engulfed part of the surrounding woodlands and still showed no signs of stopping, as firefighters struggled to bring it under control. _Maybe I over did it just a little. _She laughed, shrugging nonchalantly. However, her look became more serious as the headline re-appeared over the picture.

_Dr. Drakken believed dead after lair explosion._

_It's just reporters jumping to conclusions for flash. _Shego tried to re-assure herself, _There's no way he could have made it back to the lair in time to have been in any danger... right? _The anchor re-appeared on the screen, his words mocking Shego's attempts at self-assurance.

_"If you are just joining us, we are currently bringing you live shots of the aftermath of a massive lair explosion just outside of the tri-city area of Colorado. For unknown reasons, the lab of Dr. Drakken, aka Drew Lipski, detonated earlier tonight, and we have evidence that the once esteemed doctor was within the buildings confines when it was engulfed. As you can see in this video clip, acquired by our sources within the Global Justice Monitoring and Tracking division, Dr. Drakken enters the building moments before it explodes." _As described by the host behind the news desk, the clip above his shoulder showed Drakken approaching the building and entering it. The clip played on for a few moments longer before a blinding flash filled the lens and the feed went to static. Shego was now kneeling inches away from the television, as the clip played again, the explosion in slow motion to confirm that nothing escaped from the lab at the last second.

_He got out... He has to have gotten out! Even he's not stupid enough to have not noticed the timers. _A near hysterical voice in Shego's mind exclaimed. Immediately following it, another voice spoke, this one much quieter but more powerful then the first.

_Oh no? Didn't you just finish convincing him just a few hours ago that he was a 'complete and utter idiot'? Maybe he might have possibly noticed it on every other day sometimes, but not after you basically told him he should go jump off a bridge. You should know how extra oblivious he is when he's moapy._

_"These are some of the interviews we have managed to obtain from our sister station, CNN, which is on the ground at the scene." _The newscaster continued, oblivious to Shego's turmoil, yet crushing her pleas for hope as if it was his goal.

_"We now join the officer who first responded to the scene. Constable, was there anyone on or around the premises when you arrived, or evidence that someone had been there?"_

_"I'm afraid not. I hesitate to make any final statements, but we responded within minutes of the call, and my first sweep of the area revealed no sign of anyone within a distance I would expect a survivor of such an explosion could move to on foot. The patrolling members have found nothing which goes against my initial assessment at this time." _

_Maybe he's buried under the rubble. He could have survived! _The first voice cried, now moving beyond hysterical, grasping at increasingly ridiculous explanations to allow for Drakken's survival.

_Not likely princess._ The second voice replied._ You packed that place with enough Sem-Tec to sink a fleet of battleships. There's no way..._

_"There's no way anyone could have survived a blast like this," _a sidelined fire and explosion analyst with the attending fire department said, completing Shego's sentence. _"We will of course attempt to find survivors once the fire is brought under control, but judging from the shock damage I can see from here and the intensity of the heat, it's unlikely we will find anything organic, alive or otherwise, still intact within the former confines of the building. Until just recently, the fire was hot enough to vaporise the water before contact." _The final analysis blunted any unspoken response from Shego. She felt as if she had been punched in the gut by a super-heavyweight box.

_Well done princess. Hear that? You didn't just kill him, you vaporized him. _The cynical side of her went on the offensive.

_No... I didn't mean for... how did he make it back?_

_Maybe you should have given him a little more credit than you did. But then again, he wasn't the only short sighted idiot in the hover car tonight, was he? Maybe it was _you_who just gave yourself just a little _too much_ credit. What does it matter though? Isn't this what you wanted? He won't stand in your way anymore, that's for sure. He doesn't even have legs to do the standing anymore. _

"No... no no nonono..." Shego moaned, dragging her clawed hand over the television screen while the anchor continued on to a brief bio-pick on Drakken.

"_... In recent years, Lipski's once frightening reputation has dwindled to comical levels with his continual inability to overcome teen hero Kim Possible and her sidekick Don Toppable. In increasingly laughable schemes, he has continually depreciated the title of mad scientist..." bzzzzz _The man fell silent as Shego drove her fist through the screen. Hearing virtually the same words she had spoken just hours before, her last conversation with him, drove her over the edge as the wave of guilt and sorrow broke over her. She ran to the bathroom she had moments before sworn she would avoid at all costs, throwing herself over the toilet as she vomited. Her vision swam, and between heaves she sobbed.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I didn't mean for this... Dr. D... no..."

* * *

There. I know I have a little explaining to do about the liberties I took with the average-KP storyline here. I'm pretty sure I've strayed from the norm when it comes to life and death on the series, and this is just the beginning. That being said, the equally different character traits you may or may not have noticed (Depending on what other fanfic you've read here is how different you will read this story. There are many fics that have similar dynamics, which I must thank for inspiration, so if you've read them, hopefully this isn't too far past the red-line.) I don't foresee any more suicides in the story, and these ones are only here for specific reasons. Drakken's is to suggest just how effected he was by Shego's 'betrayal.' As I tried to convey, this one is very different from any he had experienced from her in the past. As for the mistry soldier, once we get to the point of understanding just what he's running from, what made him decide to do what he did will become very clear. Ed's character is going to expand past the fairly limited scope portrayed in the series, but since he was not as fully developed as the others, I don't think this isn't too much of a problem. Shego's reaction, I suspect considering what we learn of her relationship with Dr. D in Graduation (although that hasn't occured yet in my time-frame), isn't so far-fetched, but just the same forgive me if I offended your understanding of her character. If you really hated it, you probably should stop reading now. Things are going to get pretty heavy over the next few chapters. This is both where I want to go with the story, and a necessity of integrating KP with the crossover franchise I've selected. 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Don't own KP, any of the associated characters or any of Disney's creations. This work is purely for the enjoyment of writing.

Alright, this time my update was a little more reasonable, yes? More of Drakken, Ed and Shego here, we will catch up with the hero's in the next chapter. Drakken and Ed's bit is a little bit of comic relief, I'll try to intersperse some into each chapter, cause so far the story is rather gloomy. Shego's introduces a little bit of character development I'm fairly proud of, so please tell me what you think.

* * *

Chapter 3: Dealing With The Pain

"OWW!" Drakken screamed as Ed removed the last of the melted fabric from his back. He squirmed under his cousin's firm grip as the larger man applied disinfectant and the last strip of gauze. He finally allowed Drakken to stand, taking a moment to admire his work. Drakken's back looked like a bad modern art reinterpretation of the American Flag, but being no surgeon, Ed was quite pleased with the result. He tossed Drew relatively clean polo shirt from his duffle bag, and threw it, along with the first aid kit, back into the trunk of the car. Drakken put on the shirt, and whimpered as is slid over his tender wounds.

"If this is part of your plan to convince me life is worth living, it's not working Ed."

"Stop whining Drew. You were seriously, like, bleeding all over the seat." Eddy complained as he slammed the trunk-lid down. "Now wait in the car, I have to go pick up a few things." He took off towards the convenience store they were parked beside before Drakken could protest, so he quietly opened the passenger door and settled back into his blood-stained seat. He tried not to think about the turn his life had taken in the hours before, looking aimlessly about the vehicle for something to occupy himself with. His eyes settled on the digital clock on the stereo deck, which read 11:42 PM.

_Almost three hours since Shego __stopped only threatening to kill me._He thought. Drakken cursed himself. His mind simply refused to leave his emotional wounds alone, pursuing an analysis of the cause and effect of his now Shego-lite existence in the silence of the vehicle.

_You know it's your fault, Drew. You pushed and pushed, and now you're moaning that it broke. How can you blame her for cutting and running, even before you factor in your inability to do anything right? _He sighed, completely lacking the will to argue with himself. Before he could continue not defending himself from his own sharp barbs, Ed climbed back into the car, dropping a large cardboard box onto Drakken's lap. The action drew a gasp from the blue madman, but Ed paid him no attention, as he opened the box and handed his still shell shocked relative a beer. Ed then promptly turned the key in the ignition, and tore out of the parking lot, heading back to the interstate. He accelerated up to 20 over the speed limit, what he liked to call "cruising speed," and had left the small town far behind before he turned to his brother. He rolled his eyes, finding Drakken in the exact same pose that he had left him in moments before. The beer wasn't even open.

"Here, let me get that Drewbie." Ed sniggered, reaching over and cracking the top on the can. It seemed to bring his cousin out of his trance.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" He asked, indignantly.

"It's a beer cuz. Ya' drink it."

"I know I'm supposed to drink it!" Drakken replied, a little anger sparking in his voice. "This is your plan? Drink a beer and feel better? And Shego said my ideas were stupid."

"Actually, Drew, my plan is to have you drink that case of beers, then let you get some stress relief, then get the other case of beers out of the back and have a little man-to-man."

"Fantastic. My cousin's solution to my suicidal tendencies is to get drunk! This isn't high school, Eddy. I think you can just drop me off at the nearest police station, because there's no way this is going to work."

Frustration boiled over in the car, and as Drakken continued to rant, Ed slammed his foot on the accelerator. The sudden increase in speed stopped Drakken, and drew a squeal of fear as he saw the tail-lights of the car ahead quickly coming within spitting distance. Ed deftly manipulated the steering wheel, dodging out from behind the other car, sliding into oncoming traffic. The grille of a semi rushed to meet them, and Drakken threw up his hands, as if he could stop the 7 tonnes of steel racing towards him. Ed pushed his car harder, letting all its horses rumble onto the pavement in a mad gamble to overcome the other car before windshield met bumper. At the last moment, Ed swung them back into their proper lane, leaving inches between his door and the trucker's front tire. He smiled, patting the dash in admiration of his one true love, as Drakken continued to hyperventilate.

"Slow down Ed! You're going to kill us both!" He half growled, half pleaded between ragged breaths.

"I thought that was your plan Drewbie." Ed prodded. An instant later, the grease's monkey's deceptively sharp mind was re-aligning his plan of attack, realising he could utilize this.

"I was hoping for something quick and painless, not splattered over the hood of a big rig! Why aren't you slowing down!?"

"I'll slow down when you finish that beer."

"Ed, I don't have time for silly games..."

"I'm not playing Drewbie." Ed replied, rocking the accelerator just slightly, pushing the already wrapped speedometer further out of the increments. The action had the desired effect. When given a choice between drinking a beer and facing the likelihood of a bloody road-rashed end, Drakken put bottoms up.

"That's better Drew." Ed encouraged as his cousin drained the can. He allowed the speed to drop 10 mph, enough for Drew to notice but not so much that he lost his leverage. "Now, have another." He drew another can from the flat, and handed it to Drakken. He opened it on his own this time, and threw it back. Ed slowed another 10 mph, and Drakken caught on to the other element of the game. He grabbed another beer himself, and proceeded to drive the speedo down towards more legal levels.

By the time they were back at "cruising speed", Drew was more than half way through the flat, and three sheets to the wind. Seeing that his cousin was "primed" for a little bit of delinquent fun, Ed turned off the interstate onto a dirt country road. Drakken was so engrossed in extracting another beer that he hardly noticed the un-earned decrease in speed. In fact, he had stopped caring about the game 4 or 5 cans back, and was actually beginning to feel the gloom that had weighed on him for most of the night begin to shed.

"Yooo gnow, Edeee? This izn't ass bad un ideah as I thoughot." Drakken slurred. Ed didn't respond immediately, as he was reaching to the back seat, grabbing at something.

"Where are you? I didn't break you the last time I... there we go!" He retracted his arm, grasping a Louisville Slugger. He passed it to Drakken, who took it and stared at it as if it were the single most captivating object he had ever possessed. He snapped out of his reprieve when Ed began to remove the case of beer from his lap, and wrapped himself around it like it was a life preserver.

"No Eed. Myne!"

"Whoa there, bro. I'll give it back. I just don't want you spilling any while we proceed into phase two."

"Faz twoo?" Drakken asked, relinquishing his grip on the case. Ed nodded and grinned.

"Stress relief. See that bat?" He said, gesturing to the wooden shaft still in his brother's hand. Drakken nodded vigorously in response, so vigorously in fact that he had to take a moment to steady himself afterwards. "I want you to hang out the window and smash one of the mail boxes coming up on your side." Drakken looked at him with a face that Ed could only guess was his version of confusion while he was under the influence. "Trust me. Just visualize someone's head on that mailbox, and give it a good swing. As good as a month in therapy, I know this for a fact. And make it someone you really hate. I have at least one suggestion, but I'll leave it up to you." To confirm his seriousness, Ed hit the power windows.

The cold blast of night air seemed to drive some of the stupor from Drakken, and he readjusted his grip on the staff, throttling up on it. He climbed out of the passenger window as far as his seatbelt allowed. A line of mail boxes appeared, and Drakken selected his target, a classic white horseshoe shaped one with a red flag. Ed pulled over onto the shoulder, and slowed down to 25 so his cousin wouldn't be pulled from the car when he hit his mark. The unsuspecting tin structure rushed up, Drakken swung, and a loud crunch signalled the truth of his aim. What had morphed into the face of Kim Possible was reduced into an unrecognisable ball of steel that slowly receded into the distance behind them. Ed pounded on the steering wheel in satisfaction.

"How'd that feel, Drew?"

"It felt... good, Ed. It felt really good." Drakken replied, his tone belying his surprise.

"Go for another one." Drakken nodded, this time superimposing Betty Director's face over a plastic box shaped like a miniature barn. This one shattered on contact, producing an even stronger feeling of satisfaction.

_Wow, when something that isn't yours breaks into a million pieces, it feels great! _Drakken thought. He continued the procedure without further prompting, bashing Professor Dementor, James Possible, and many more from his long unwritten shit list into deformed metallic hunks, Ed cheering him on all the way.

Noting that he only had two possible targets left before the row of mailboxes ended, Drakken first selected the buffoon, who, despite his inability to remember his name, Drew Lipski bore an especially strong distaste for. Because while Kim Possible's sidekick's ineptitude often matched his own, the results of each man's bumbling could not have been more vastly disparate. Drakken's clumsiness and inattention to detail resulted in devastating failure, but much the buffoon's success was a direct effect of his inability to coordinate his actions. And it went beyond the boy's uncanny ability to press the wrong button at the right time, but invaded several parallels that existed between both himself and the blonde. The same divergence of outcomes was found in the buffoon's personal relationships, where his highly unconventional outlook on life, while certainly not earning him popular status, had granted him several strong friendships and even romantic interest. The same could not be said for the teenaged Drew, where the few friends he had acquired seemed to only tolerate his quirks, rather than embrace them as endearing attributes, and had eventually judged them were too strange to allow for continued association. Drakken chose not to even delve into his former romantic life, or lack thereof. The blue skinned doctor had dedicated his entire life to making some contribution to science or villainy worth mentioning; in the few years that the Buffoon was internationally active he had been the subject of a highly secretive Global Justice study on chaos, and come closer to accomplishing what so many much more deserving villains (namely himself) had failed as Zorpox The Conqueror. The unfairness of it all seemed to invigorate the doctor's tiring arm muscles, and he swung with such force that the box, with the shriek of sheering metal, was torn from its post, and sent flying forward for a few moments, before hitting the ground and flying apart.

_Wow Drew. _Ed mused, whistling. _If you could tap into this at wil__l, you would make a decent deep__ hitter. __I wonder who was the unlucky recipient of that little bit of emotional __exorcising_A resounding crack interrupted Ed's thoughts, and he looked over in time to see the bat splinter against the last mailbox in the row, and the box, along with the post holding it into the ground, dislodge itself and crash into the ditch. _ Note to self. _Ed amended_ When helping veteran head case relieve 20 years __worth __of stress and __undiagnosed emotional disorders, use aluminum bat. Or titanium. _As his cousin withdrew back into the cab of the car, Ed swiped the fragmented handle of his once beautiful Louisville classic.

"I guess this means phase two is over..." Drakken observed dumbly, his voice regaining some of the mirthlessness it had shed.

"How many mailboxes do you think you need to destroy, Drewbie?" Ed laughed, worried that his cousin's recovery was being hindered from concern over his damaged property. "The bat is no big deal, seriously. I think you're ready to talk now anyway." Drakken did not respond, slumping back into his seat as Ed revved the tachometer up again and took off down the road, searching for a suitable place to begin phase three.

(-) (-) (-)

Shego simply lay on the cool tiles of the motel bathroom for what seemed like several hours, moving only when her private thoughts became too strong for her stomach, and she was forced to again hang her head over the toilet bowl and retch. By now she was long out of solid food to bring up, and the taste of raw bile was engrained in her mouth.

_And you wanted to show Drakken how useless HE would be without YOU. He's been gone for __less than half a day __and all you've managed to do without him around is develop Bulimia. Funny how irony works, eh princess? _The condescending, self-defaming voice, a result of her criminal career, continued to torment her. It did an excellent job of representing her when turned outward, as it did most of the talking while she "had her villain face on", but it was just as talented and happy berating it's owner at moments of weakness or stupidity as it was verbally sparring with Kimmie. The other voice, the one Shego outwardly denied existed and kept silent, but could not, or would not (it depended upon her mood) destroy entirely, did not answer. The girl and hero that had disappeared when Shego turned filled that role in her internal duologue, and rather poorly it would seem.

The disembodied forms of the current villainous woman and the former heroic girl served as the proverbial devil and angel (contemptuous of cliché, Shego preferred to refer to them as Desire and Reticence) on her shoulders and at the same time composed the single mind which those forces tried to sway. As her environment dictated, the darker version of herself had outward control most of the time, but they collated for all decisions, granted sometimes violently. However, her softer side undeniably held sway in her actions and thoughts. Each also laid claim to certain tendencies. As might be expected, the villainous side was dedicated to action, all of it rash and headlong, the basic drives, and held her calculative mind while the fragment of her youth comprised her reflective, creative and empathetic capabilities (hence their names). Thusly, while both would deny it, they required each other to function, and in fact worked best when collaborating.

This was why all the harsh voice could do was taunt Shego. If life was to go on, she needed the assistance of her mental counterpart, and unfortunately that half had fallen into a state of near catatonia soon after the reality of Drakken's demise had sunk in. Despite the indications of differing involvement in Desire's continuing outburst and Reticence's coma-like state, both were equal partners in Shego's actions earlier that evening. Their reactions were simply the quite different way that they dealt with the guilt. Drakken's parting comment had hurt both of them, Desire in the assertion of her unimportance to the operation and questioning of her abilities, and Reticence in the associated unvoiced questioning of her importance to _him_. His resulting death crushed both of them, but being pragmatic Desire knew how to operate in situations without hope. Reticence, bearing the requisite optimistic attitude of a hero, did not.

_Come on now, guilt over killing Dr. D shouldn't be getting you this bad. Sure, he was our boss, but we are criminals. I mean, it's almost as if you miss him or something. _Desire prodded, trying to get a response out her companion. She received something significantly more rattling.

_Don't pretend that you __w__on't__ miss him__! Don't even try! He's the only one who's accepted you in any way__ beside a __bed-mate__ The only one who's trusted you to any degree, the only one who cared enough to tr__y and spring you from jail simply __because you were there__, not just to help out in a heist or be an accessory in a retarded plan to drive across country. He even came__ chasing after you when __Avitarus__ tried to exact his revenge.__ Try and__ be a heartless bitch, __fine, __but you can't tell me that __he meant nothing to you. You may be many things, but a sociopath isn't one of them. Now __SHUT UP,__leave me alone__, and if you__'__r__e__ so sure he's dead, let him rest__! I__t__'__s the least we could do for him, considering we__ just killed the only person who's tolerated what __we've __become since you showed. _Desire was shocked at Reticence's reply. Optimism, it seemed, was only one step away from pessimism. But Desire hadn't turned Shego into one of the world's greatest mercenaries by not being able to adapting to the unexpected.

_So what are you doing about it down here, princess? If you think he's still alive, get up off your ass and start looking for him. __Like you said, he could be buried under a pile of rubble, while you__'__r__e__ lying here wallowing in your own sorrow_Desire did not truly believe this, but was surprised at the warmth that admitting to such a possibility, however remote, brought. And if she was to get Reticence moving, and with her Shego, she needed to establish hope again, flimsy though it might be. Mercifully, it seemed Reticence was more than willing to grasp at something, anything to fill the void that the guilt had carved out of her.

With the two forces aligned with new purpose, Shego rose from her self-induced paralysis, taking only enough time to wash the horrid taste from her mouth before running to the hover car parked outside. Whatever the result, Shego would not simply sit inactive while her reality was dictated by other forces. This was something both Desire and Reticence could agree on. And, given the overwhelming bleakness of her emotional plight, futile and yet nobly motivated action was the only way to soothe the guilt that burned hot within the mind(s) of the green skinned villainess. It was almost assuredly physically meaningless, but in the same moment no other act she had committed or expected she would commit approached the importance of this undertaking.

(-) (-) (-)

After several minutes of high-speed transit (Shego oddly wondered for the first time if there was a speed limit for vehicles that weren't wheeled but didn't quite qualify as aircraft) the distraught but galvanized young woman stood outside the now silent and soggy remains of Drakken's shattered lair. It was of course quardend-off with yellow police tape, which flipped lazily in the wind, but the buzz of activity that had filled the area was now absent. She was not surprised that the local emergency response forces had vacated the scene. To them this was nothing more than some kind of accident, and once they had put out the blaze, confirmed that no one was hurt, or to their knowledge even present, and nothing hazardous was released, the volunteer firefighters had packed up and went home to their families. They had no reason to go into the wee hours of the morning on a fire investigation that was not going anywhere, or had any reason to be disturbed. Without the need for medical care, the ambulance was long gone, and the under equipped highway patrol had to attend to more pressing matters than to guard a fairly innocent, if extraordinarily destructive disaster site. These regular populace had no idea that a super-villain had been living in their midst, and until the proper team of inspectors was assembled and they realised that the building had been deliberately levelled by military grade explosives, civilian authorities would have little more than mild annoyance in the activities she was about to engage in . What did shock her when she did her sweep of the area from within her cloaked hover car was the complete lack of surveillance of any kind.

_GJ decided__ they had to monitor this lair before... why aren't they here sifting through the wreckage? _Shego pondered.

_Probably because they figure Dr. D isn't smart enough to have actually escaped. _Desire piped up, her intention to actually answer the question. Reticence injected a note of sarcasm into the statement, enforcing her support of Drakken, despite the evidence stacked in favour of that assessment. Quickly disregarding the legal boundaries that impeded her access to her goal, not that they had ever mattered before, Shego began her search of the fragmented steel I-beams and charred building material that littered the crater that her rage made real had left in its wake. Her first step into "ground zero" brought forth a renewed wave of nausea inducing guilt, standing in the midst of the physical amalgamation of what she had done increasing the realism of her act by ten times. She was halted for an instant, and she reviewed the scene from a new, much more personal level.

Before, she had seen the blackened ground as any individual trained as highly in espionage as she was would, as a grid work of possible hiding places, foxholes and other likely aspects of a trap. However, in her well established security from such worries, Reticence was able to escape the bunker Desire routinely encased her in during such dangerous situations, and establish the tactically destabilising effect of sentimentality that made her such a hazard in such less-than-certain situations. Her carefully set out plan of investigation was set aside as individual concern and weakness intervened, and Shego saw one pile of decimated cement as Drakken's quarters, the next where Drakken had laid out breakfast for so many days without comment, another as the room he had said something stupid and she had hit him (basically what qualified as a friendly moment for them). Neither mind had any delusions about physical attraction, but it was as if Drakken had filled the slot left by her less than endearing father, or her obliviously inconsiderate brothers. He was, _is, _Reticence demanded, the emotional foundation that she had lacked in her childhood, and even his hardly ideal self-sacrificial tendencies could not overcome the fact that she had had no closer male influence in her life than his.

_\Well, less one. _Shego conceded, considering the personal loss that was the direct cause of the turn in her life, the greatest and only supersedently pure influence lost to her in the days preceding her fall into villainy. But she was violently opposed to such thoughts, and both of her highly divergent camps of memory engrams united in the elimination of those precariously ruinous deliberations. This drove her from her reprieve, allowing Desire to re-assert herself and slip the raven-haired woman into a more business-like mood as she drew a scanning device from the case slung over her shoulder.

Keying it to search for life-signs, she began sweeping the area using the high-tech gadget. Had it been any other example of Drakken's technology, pilfered or otherwise, Shego would have found any readings it offered highly suspect. However she had it on good authority that her employer had sniped this particular device's design from one Wade Load, Kim Possible's hacker extraordinaire and one of the most reliably certifiable geniuses Shego dealt with. And that could mean a lot, or very little, depending on which group of geniuses she was calling into question; those on her side were less than inspiring company to place the prodigy amongst. Her victims were more appropriate; though "dealing with" most of them meant stealing only one or two pieces of their technology, not coming up against it on a bi-monthly basis. There were certainly friendlier ways to gain an appreciation for someone's technical wizardry than constantly finding yourself on the receiving end of a device's capabilities, but even Shego normally unassailable ego could not deny a fair amount of respect to the young boy's overwhelmingly bright track record when it came to the effectiveness of his mechanisms.

_Drakken will never be able to live it down__ if __Kim's tech boy__'s design__turns out to provide__ his lifeline. _She thought to herself. _Then again, if anyone finds out about how attached I've gotten to this Kimmunicat... Green-n-Blackberry, I won't hear the end of it either. Irony strikes again. Who would have ever thought Kim Possible would have anything to do with saving Dr. Drakken's life. _Her musings were positive, if only due to an artificially powerful sense of hope, partly from the protracted difference in her state of mind when compared to earlier in the evening, partly from the overtime Desire was putting in to keeping the volatile Reticence in the game. However, even better-than-best-case scenario that was being presented was becoming tainted with the results of the scan.

Thermal imaging showed no hot spots which might indicate a living form, a hyper-sensitive atmospheric gas content sensor detected no unexplained oxygen-carbon dioxide exchange, auditory scans which focused in on the sonic bands where breathing and a heartbeat could be discerned over the white noise that was present even in the eerie silence of the crater picked up only the shallow breathes issued from the green skinned villainess. Even an induction coil which was designed to detect the electrical impulses of the central nerves' system, which would only be absent in a corpse, was unresponsive. Shego tip-toed around the entire site, holding the device as close to the piles of rubble as possible to ensure the sensors would not overlook something due to the limitations of range. On her third circuit, with no change in result, she deactivated the seemingly useless device in disgust.

_If you want something done right, you need to do it yourself._ She thought in exasperation as she began to physically sift through the nearest pile of rubble. Finding nothing definitive, she moved on to the next one. It would take hours to go through the site like this, and would turn up nothing at best, a cadaver at worst, but some force, beyond even Desire's prodding, allowed Shego to do no less. Within less than 30 minutes the manicure that she had been so concerned about just hours before was reduced to a mangled set of cracked and bloodied nails, even beneath her clawed gloves, but she ignored the lancing pain that was numbing her hands with her every motion and pressed on. After some 3 hours of heaving the mauled rock from the piles where it had fallen into other piles where she had thrown them, Shego's search finally came to a bitterly predictable end.

Finished sorting through a pile of burned timber that had culminated in the general area of what had once been one of the henchmen's barracks, Shego set out across the barren expanse that roughly split the lair in half. This was where the explosion had been so powerful it had atomized the surrounding structural components, leaving only a raw patch of ground that resembled the aftermath of a volcanic pyroclastic flow. There was no point searching here, indeed, nothing to even to search, and she was merely cutting through it to start looking through the wreckage on the other side. As she crossed the exact point of the epicentre, she slipped on a section of ground that was completely devoid of traction, a noticeable difference from the bumpy and easily gripped underfoot consistency of the rest of the blast crater. Looking down at the offending square foot of ground, Shego was shocked to see the sheen of a glass like compound literally cast into the ground. Taking a moment to examine this strange result of the extreme heat created by the explosion, the green skinned woman knelt down beside it. She dragged a clawed finger over top, again disregarding the sting of contact with her abscessed digits, and was amazed by the flawless smoothness that the unintended formation possessed.

_It__'__s_ t_oo p__e__r__fect_. She thought. It was not as if she was an expert in the creation of glass, but she had some basic understanding of how the stuff formed, from documentary she had watched during a stretch 'inside' on a bizarre form of art that involved placing metal rods into beaches during thunderstorms. When the lightning struck, extraordinary sculptures of perfect glass formed around the thermally conductive steel. However, it was the focused heat that the rod created that gave rise to the smooth glass, without the concentration of thermal energy any glass formation could not be uniformly flat. Flaring up her glow-power, Shego illuminated the interior of the translucent slab.

She blinked several times, not believing what she was seeing. The villainess lashed out with her plasma enshrouded fist, fragmenting the glass and extracted the object of her confusion. She had found her thermal focal point. It was a black glove, not one of hers, though she wished it was. Initially she had thought it was a hand, which was the reason for her bewilderment. As the civilian fire investigator had said, flesh and blood could not have survived the inferno that had ravaged this area. But closer analysis had dismissed that explanation, and produced an even more disturbing one. It was one of Drakken's laboratory gloves, half of the only set that he owned. Designed to be nearly indestructible, they had on their own cost more to create than half of his more impressive contraptions, and since unlike those other innovations these simple protective devices had worked so faultlessly, he had seen no need for another set. This was also why he almost never removed the gloves, wearing them constantly not only ensured he had a measure of protection from his numerous failures, but guaranteed that he would not lose them in his absent-mindedness. Having seen them resist destruction from even her own energised fists, Shego had no doubt that they could have survived the explosion and provided the heat with a point to converge upon to form the glass it which it had been encased, even as their wearers' body was incinerated within them.

For the second time in a single night, Shego fell to her knees. This was the confirmation that she had dreaded, that Drakken had been in the building at the time of the explosion, and he had not gotten out. Grasping what could quite possibly be the last scrap of physical evidence that the man known as Drew Lipski had ever existed closely to her face, Shego relinquished her last vestige of pride, and began to weep like the small frightened child that the finality of reality had turned her into.

* * *

A little post script here, I don't encourage drinking while in a motorized vehicle (this can lead to a lot of trouble for the driver, even if they aren't imbibing. stupid alcoholic leech friends...) nor do I endorse vandalism as a form of stress relief. It just seemed like the sort of thing Ed would do. And I know the whole glass sculpture thing kinda came out of no-where, but it had to be done.

Thanks, Drew


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Don't own Kim Possible etc etc, or other series, just story. Written exclusively for the enjoyment of myself and others.

Alright, a few things happen in this chapter. This is the last time we will hear from Drakken for a long stretch, but I'll give you something to chew on about where he's going. While for him, my foundation for his personality manipulation is more or less complete, there is still a bunch left for Shego and the hero's. Also, I start setting up for more hints as to the crossover series.

Enjoy, and review of you see fit.

* * *

Chapter 4: Strange Sleeping Arrangements

There are certain places that seem to naturally lend themselves to deep emotional and philosophical thought. It is no coincidence that so many of history's greatest minds are all pictured lying amongst the trees of an apple orchard, or walking along a secluded rock beach on the Atlantic; causally wandering the worn streets of one of past imperial capitals, or sitting within the torch-lit halls of some ancient marble citadel. Such locations have an almost tangible atmosphere that encourages the sort of profound thinking which can change the world. This incomprehensible effect was as palpable to the likes of Sir Issac Newton, Galileo Galilee, Socrates, Albert Einstein and literally the entire society of men and women whose words are now forever linked to the very pinochle of human intellectual achievement, as it is to the farmer who dropped out of high school as he gazes out over his crops and feels a single tear come to his eye. Or, in this case, a gear head with an obsession with air guitar and making things go fast.

Unfortunately, Edward Lipski found himself out of the lands of fruit bearing trees, completely landlocked, and, needless to say, infinitely distant from the era of the Alexandrian Library or 15th century Venice. But there were other environments that had the same quality about them, and he sought to change only one mind rather than the entire planet. So he deemed the cliff side that he pulled up to off a scarcely defined mountain road under an endless blanket of stars to be sufficiently inspiring.

A silence had fallen over the car in the drive, Drakken lost once again in his own private musings, nursing another beer. This was part of what Ed hoped he would accomplish in the preceding phases of this program, a system of emotional analysis and diagnosis that was almost instinctual to the teeming masses of the hormone ridden male population, but that he had long ago developed into an almost exacting science. The basic principles were the same: drink, destroy, and then after a night of hooligan antics, break down and discuss what young men were incapable of discussing if they were not in a state of inebriated adrenalinic shock, their emotions. What defined Ed's method as an art rather than the natural form was all in the detailing and balance, just like any scientific procedure.

Alcohol was a must. Obviously not so much that the subject's words are indiscernible from the guttural intonations of a cow, but just enough to free up the tongue and to establish the foolhardy trust that enabled men to pick a fight with someone twice their size because of a casual "you can take him" from one of his buddies. The type of senseless destruction was also a more involved question than a phrase having the adverb 'senseless' seemed to imply. Do something too small scale, and the urgency to offload any regrets is not powerful enough to be used to help pry out details of something completely unrelated to the pointless chaos being enacted. And something too large will consume the entire night in a game of cat and mouse with the local officers of the peace, and all that will be exchanged will be the occasional whispered "Dude, we are so screwed." There was also the question of how easily the type of tom-foolery could be connected to the cause of the unspecified emotional difficulties. Ed found that the mail box approach was the most effective at dredging these thoughts to the forefront of someone's consciousness, followed by something involving paintball guns and livestock, or firecrackers and unsuspecting golfers.

Settling onto a flat area on the precipice, Ed killed the engine, leaving the radio on tuned to the Oldies AM station that was the only one he could find this far off the beaten track. The mulleted man climbed out of the car and obtained the second flat of beer from the back seat, finally opening himself one as he settled out onto the hood of his vehicle. He intentionally did not suggest his cousin join him, precipitating a test to Drakken's mood. His prediction that the blue man (both physically and mentally) was in a state of readiness to bear his soul was confirmed as, of his own accord, Drew stepped out of the passenger door and flopped down beside him, staring blankly up into the sky. Ed was about to prompt the conversation with a question, but displaying a desire to unload his unsettling feelings that surprised his cousin, Drakken beat him to the punch.

"I imagined my own face on that last mail box, but at the last instant Shego's replaced mine..."

"This is a problem, dude?" Ed asked, his surprised voice masking the fact that he was in fact prepared for this answer.

"Well... I don't know. I mean, I'm the screw-up, not her..."

"Who says?"

"The facts, Ed." Drew replied evenly, and then he filled his cousin in on the particulars of his evening, including the _conversation_ with Shego. Ed took it all in, thinking about the parts which likely did the most damage, and how he could turn the words against the sorrow they had inspired. Finishing, Drakken elaborated on how his mental faculties had interpreted what had been said.

"And she's right. I am a disgrace. Everything I do is at best a complete failure, and at worst? Well, let's just say the Titanic has nothing on me. It's no mystery why she's fed up with that, the only question is why she took so long to cut bait."

"Oh, I can think of plenty other questions." Ed replied, setting the plan of reflection on inferences and deflection of blame in motion. 'Why she decided that it wasn't good enough to just kick you out of a moving vehicle, take all your stuff and bolt, but that for good measure she figured she should off you is a good one. Where she gets off blaming you for tonight where it was her that wrecked the portal is another. But first of all, take a look at where this downturn your career started, man. Just a few years ago, you were the toast of the villain town. You were pulling in enough ransom money to rate for a seat on the G8 for Christ's sakes. Global Justice was basically put together to slow you down."

"That was all before Kim Possible, Ed. What separates the great from the forgotten is how they deal with new challenges, and we all know how that's been going for me. Like Shego said, I can't even beat a cheerleader and her klutz of a boyfriend."

"So you think it all changed when Red came on the scene?"

"That's basically when things started going downhill, yes."

"Actually, your wrong, cousin. I can tell you the moment that things went south. The first sign of trouble was Christmas dinner back in '02. Your mom was talking all about the fantastic new _co-host_ you got for your _radio show_. Ed's sarcastic enunciation of co-host and radio show were of course in reference to the cover story that Drakken used to keep his mother out of the loop of his world conquering activities, that he was a radio talk-show Psychiatrist working in Denver. Ed was perhaps the only one in the Lipski clan that knew the actual truth about the farce. Decoded, his reference to the co-host was in fact an allusion to Shego. "Almost immediately after that, you started slowing down. Started screwing up. Why is it that you chose to hire only one person to run your stage crew? I never understood that."

"Well, one thing was it cost so damn much to keep a whole cadre of less skilful mercenaries on my payroll." Drakken replied after a lengthy moment. It had been so long since the time before Shego had taken up the role of his single woman shock force that he had to think rather hard about his initial reasons for doing so.

"Didn't you tell me just last month that she was costing you an arm and a leg just in spa treatments she had you write into her contract? Sure doesn't seem like your saving much."

"The other thing was, with those other mercenaries there was always the threat that someone could offer them a better deal to betray me. I hoped that if I focused on just one, treated her right, I could eventually trust her. I didn't mind paying more, granting those perks because I thought I had managed to gain Shego's loyalty."

"But we see how that went, didn't we?" Ed replied, and Drakken nodded sombrely before taking another long draft from his beer. "What I want to point out is that your 'downfall' began before you ever met Kim Possible. By the time you first clashed, you hadn't made headlines for months. Isn't it funny that your plans went from world infamous to bad jokes once Shego started working for you?" Drakken seemed taken aback by this question. He might have said that Shego was partially responsible for tonight's fiasco, but it was so foreign to seriously suggest that Shego was anything but the one great advantage he had that he misinterpreted Ed's clear meaning.

"What are you implying, Ed? That hiring Shego made me go soft? That trying to find a genuine ally rather than hiring a soldier of fortune made me lose my edge?"

"Not at all Drew. I'm saying that she is the one who is the failure. You didn't just suddenly get stupider when you hired her, but your schemes did almost immediately begin to break down. Think of it like this. You could have a quarter back that is an absolute genius with a football, but he couldn't even throw the ball without a good offensive line protecting him, no matter how perfect the play is. It's the same with you. No matter how meticulous the plan, if you keep getting blitzed without anyone to cover your back it _will_ fail. Remember the 'Little Diablo Incident'? That was the first time I'd seen you on VNN since you hired Green. They did all sorts of analysis on the plan, the whole nine, called it a glimpse of your former greatness. And you know what was different about that scheme, what made it come so close to success? You didn't depend on Shego to protect it, dude. You kept her out of the loop, reached past her limitations in combating a direct threat by throwing all sorts of smoke and mirrors at Red and Blondie. Distracting and causing infighting between the heroes did a damn sight more for giving you time than just sicing Shego on them in a stand up fight ever did. Then made yourself another much more capable body guard in Syntho-drone 901. When the shit hit the fan, he managed to keep things under control, even when the _greatest-mercenary-in-the-world_ Shego was getting laid out by that ditzy teenage girl she mentioned. When did all that work come crashing down? The instant your other support was killed. Shego couldn't even ensure your escape." Ed paused, allowing Drakken to respond. His cousin had sat up, and was shifting uncomfortably.

"But all my other plans didn't work..."

"That's because most of them never even made it off the ground. Now, I'll admit some of your plans have been pretty idiotic, but it's not interception or a fumble if you don't even get a chance to get the ball away. It's a sack. Think about how many of your schemes actually made it past the preparation stages before being snuffed out. You can probably count them on one hand since Shego started working for you. It's not your lack of creativity or intelligence; you've just been limited by sub-par help." Ed did not completely agree with this assessment of Shego's "lack" of skill or her "negative" effect on Drakken's career. To be completely honest, the entire line of reasoning he was putting forth glossed over the fact that indeed many of Drakken's plans of the last 5 years most likely would have failed spectacularly had they reached fruition. But the statements were near enough to truth, in that they were not direct lies, just acceptance of really, really long odds and ignorance of probability, to be believable.

However, Ed's allegiance was to his family bloodline tonight, not the truth. If a little bending of honesty at the expense of a woman who had just hours ago tried to kill Drew was what it took to prevent his cousin from deciding his fate was to be no better than a race horse in decline (a trip to the glue factory) so be it. And it was hard to argue with results, no matter how ill-begotten. His argument was having an effect; it was clear from his cousin's intent listening and the contorted forms his expressions were taking that he was seriously disturbing the submissive tone that Drakken's self-image had taken. He could deal with the damage control of Drakken's possibly violent new view of his partner once he was certain that Drakken would remain a living member of the partnership, so he pressed on in building his cousin up at the villainess' detriment.

"Let's not stop there though, cuz. She has a history of taking off when a better opportunity presented itself. I mean, when I broke her out she didn't suggest we take you with us. She make fun of you when we passed by for god sakes. And I hear that wasn't the only time she left you high and dry. Didn't she actually refuse to bust you out of the joint? How many times has she betrayed you, in action or inaction? How many times has she beaten up on you when she was pissed off, even when it had nothing to do with anything you've done? How many times was it her that hesitated when something clashed with her morals, while she called you out for having your own ethical system? And she had the audacity to say you are uncommitted to the goal of world conquest, that you aren't evil? She's not only inept, she's a hypocrite, she's the apathetic loser she accused you of being. You ask why she took so long to cut bait? I ask why you gave her so much rope to hang you with, when all she was doing was dragging you down, wasting your time and convincing you that her faults were your own." Switching from the passive pointing out of Shego's perceived flaws to the active conditional demonization of her past actions would be unfair to say the least if, once again, the fact that she had attempted the explosive elimination of her boss was omitted, but any sympathy Ed bore the young woman was supplanted in the hope that turning Drakken's self destructive tendencies on her would be sufficient to ensure his emotional stability. He could deal with the aftermath later. And now, with all his chips in, Ed could do no more than wait for the river card to be laid down, and see if his bluff had had paid off. 

Drakken was again lying down on the hood, his eyes glazed over, staring beyond even the infinity of the night sky. The new perspective of his and Shego's relationship, and the value of that said association swirled within his mind with the force of a Tornado Alley twister, tearing apart even what had been the most permanent of perceptions, breaking them into tinder to fuel a new fire which was building in his psyche. On the exterior the change was pronounced, Drakken seeming to physically grow back to his former size, shrugging of the irons that had earlier forced his posture to sag. The misty, broken look in his eyes flashed out of existence as the renewed tenacity forged a revitalized glare, this one as hard and sharp as a diamond bit drill. And when he spoke, the dissolute timbre that had marred his speech to varying degrees all night was gone, replaced with an imposingly strong tone that had not been there before, even prior to the emotional breakdown he had suffered.

"Ed... you're absolutely right... and, ironically, so was Shego. In a roundabout way. I have indeed been a complete fool. So much time has been wasted... both with her and with ethical considerations... But no more! Tonight has yielded more critical insights than I could have believed feasible given its rocky start... the clarity is positively refreshing, and I shall not squander it. Tomorrow, I start anew." Glaring out over the terrain, this time with a calculating gaze in which he seemed to be analyzing the very landscape as a hunter might take stock of his prey. "So many possibilities. Thank you Ed, I almost lost sight of it."

"No problem bro, seriously." Ed replied, yawning. His task more or less complete to his satisfaction, although the change seemed to have resulted in a slightly different Drakken than had existed before tonight, the late hour began to have its effect on Ed. As he had admitted before, the recovery from what had happened would not be complete tonight, most assuredly now as Ed noted the subtitle hints of building contempt in his cousin's voice when he mentioned Shego and his comment about the waste of ethical considerations prompting more than a small amount of concern. It would be fine if Drew bore her nothing but abject hate for the rest of his life, such was the right of someone who had been subjected to attempted murder, but it could not be allowed to become the focal point of his existence. It would also be prudent to seek some explanation for her action in any event, whether it be in confronting her for a direct justification or simply witnessing her at work with her assumed new employer, before the decision to exact any revenge was enacted.

But those were concerns for another day. Rising, Ed made his way to the back of the car and retrieved a blanket from the dark recesses of the trunk. It stunk of motor oil and gasoline, exactly the comforting fragrances that helped Ed sleep like a rock at night (whether it be from the familiarity of the scents or the effect of the fumes, Ed chose not delve into). He crawled over the front buckets onto the rear bench seat, sticking his shoeless feet through the window.

"Hey, Drew, you gunna hunker down? You can take the front seat." He called from within the car.

"I will, I'm just going to stay out here for a while longer." Drakken replied. Ed nodded silently, and began to drift off as Neil Young's 'Hey Hey, My My' began to play softly through the car's speakers. He was already asleep by the time of Neil's maxim on the preferability that burning out held over fading away, and thus missed the bout of maniacal laughter it provoked from his cousin.

(-) (-) (-)

The flight home from the cliff side that had held witness to another, much more blatantly disturbing series of events was a long and unenjoyable one for the teenaged Team Possible. Usually, the duo was able to rest easy in one another's company after the successful completion of a mission, but tonight, no matter the position Kim's head found on Ron's deltoid, physical comfort eluded her. This corporeal distress was a direct function of her mental unease. They had not heard back from Wade with any news concerning the condition of the soldier, who, barring an even greater catastrophe, should have long ago reached the GJ emergency medi-center. And her unanswered question still rang in her head, demanding an answer that was beyond the young woman. She had mercifully not been exposed to the sorts of horrors that would make suicide seem like the most valid, indeed, the only option, and as Ron had suggested, she hoped she never would be. So, shunned by the soft embrace of sleep, Kimberly Anne clung to Ron's arm, greedily extracting all the reassurance's it offered. The blonde, who seldom slept during the egress of a mission but never-the-less quickly wound down from his own combat high, was as affected as Kim was. He remained on edge, in a passive defensive state, gazing out of the side window of the helicopter at the developing rainstorm outside, his own uncertainties exacerbated by Kim's concerning body language. He tired to radiate a calming mien, but his BFGF continued to be agitated.

There were few things that Ron was willing to attribute to himself as a solid and unique talent, he was simply too humble a person, but one of them was his latent ability to provide solstice for his oft hyper-tensile best friend. He readily accepted this responsibility, in fact believed it to be his highest purpose in this life, and it seemed it would require more proactive measures to sooth her perturbed mindset. And while he may not have been a whiz at prescribed book-knowledge, when it came to Kimberology, he had a triple doctorate. He nudged her out of her artificial slumber on his arm, and cocked his head slightly when she looked up into his eyes questioningly.

"Why don't you call Wade to find out about our friend?" The suggestion was a gutsy, but calculated one. As it often was with stress, Ron suspected the majority of Kim's discomfort came down to not knowing what the result, either way, of something that was now out of her hands. She probably felt responsible for what she believed to be sub-standard measures she took to protect the well-being of a de facto victim of Drakken's latest scheme, and in that she would retain self-imposed accountability until there was some resolution. The risk came, obviously, from the possibility that the man did not recover from his injuries, which would surely take Kim's self-recriminations to the nth power. However, there was no reason to prolong unawareness of an inescapable reality if no comfort came of that disinformation, and despite the severity of grief that blame for the death of another human being might bring her, Ron felt better equipped to combat that sorrow than the sting of ignorance.

Nodding in agreement, Kim straightened up, momentarily lamenting the fact that she had to surrender contact with him in the process. As uncomfortable she had been before, even the insignificant increase in distance that leaning away from her boyfriend created multiplied that discomfort by several degrees. She activated the Kimmunicator, this time allowing Wade a few moments to compose himself before interjecting her interrogative.

"Hey Kim. How's the flight home going?"

"I've had better Wade. The ride is fine, it's just... I need to know, is there any news about our mystery soldier?"

"I'm sorry Kim. The last information Global Justice was able to give me was that he was going into emergency surgery. I haven't heard from them sinc... well, speak of the devil. I just got an update." Wade opened the new email from his side of the connection and quickly digested its content. When he turned back towards his web-cam, his face displayed a look of cautious optimism. "Well, the good news is he's out of surgery and stable."

"And the bad news?" Kim prompted, her guilty conscience still focused on the negative.

"Well..." Wade stalled, trying to find the best way to put as positive spin on the particulars of the soldier's state. As she was the daughter of a skilful surgeon, Wade knew that Kim was probably aware of a fair amount of statistics concerning likelihood of recovery from the condition he was about to convey to her. "The fall cracked his skull cap. GJ's medical-staff was able to prevent any long term physical damage, but he's slipped into a coma. The doctor says it's natural considering the severity of the trauma that his entire body has suffered, but that he has a high degree of brain activity, and excellent reflex action, so they don't think there is any physiological or psychological damage. That means he stands a good chance of waking up."

"Wade, a good chance of waking up from a coma is 1 in 20 cases. And they won't be able to tell if there is functional damage until he does." Kim replied, crestfallen. Wade had called the spread wisely, all he could do was re-assure her.

"I'm sorry Kim, but that's all there is about him here. It's a waiting game now. One other thing though, Global Justice also wants a report on what happened tonight. Procedure whenever there's a casualty of a coincidentally involved 3rd party."

"Wade, its one thirty in the morning." Ron exclaimed glancing at his watch. "Dr. Director may not need sleep, but the rest of us mere humans certainly do. I for one enjoy it even. She can't order us around like this; we don't work for GJ, and even if we did, doesn't the constitution have something guaranteeing protection from cruel and unusual punishment?" In agreement with his master, Rufus made a series of aggressive but inaudible squeaks that obviously mirrored the sentiments of his human friend. But Kim touched his shoulder softly, silencing his protest before it got too far out of hand.

"No, Ron, I called on them for help. I'm responsible for explaining why I didn't do a good enough job protecting an innocent bystander. I'll have them drop you off first and then..."

"No way am I letting you take the blame for this KP. It wasn't your fault. How could you have known that he'd decide to jump off a cliff rather than listen to reason? He's still alive because you were there, and willing to risk your own neck to snag him!" Ron interjected. However, Kim, her face set with a look of grim determination, seemed not to hear him. Ron looked to Wade pleadingly. A ghost of a smirk adorned the younger man's mouth as he continued in the renewed silence.

"If either one of you would care to let me finish my sentence before deciding to bite my head off or resign them self to Leavenworth, Dr. Director requested the report _at your convenience_, meaning you are still going home tonight. She would like them by the end of the weekend if possible. And Kim, she wanted me to extend Global Justice's commendations for your quick action in saving the life of the patient. She states that she's certain that without your presence, they would be placing that man in the morgue rather than the recovery ward." It was Kim's turn to protest, but Wade's turn to cut her off. "She was very explicit about not allowing you to think you had failed in any way. There isn't much that can be said to someone who is delusional to make them see rationality. This may well have been the best case scenario. So, go home, get some sleep, and for god sakes Kim, do something about your hair." And with that, Wade signed off. His closing lines shattered the tension in the passenger section of the helicopter, Ron bursting out in laughter as Kim's mouth fell agape.

"Wha... you little... I... He is really starting to get lippy..." She said to the blank screen before turning to the snigger-seized male who had fallen from his seat and fixed an ice cold emerald glare directly into the brown eyes of her boyfriend. "And just what are _you_ laughing at, mister?" She asked, taking a handful of the still moist sap from her hair and smearing it into Ron's own blonde locks. Ron, who had ceased laughing upon being beset by Kim's 'serious' face, sat shell shocked; Kim managed to maintain her faux-anger for only a few seconds more before falling into her own fit of giggles. Once he realised he was not moments from the beating of his life, Ron began laughing again and climbed back up into his seat. Kim resumed her former position clutching his bicep, resting her head on his shoulder. Ron in turn tilted his head to lie against Kim's, and, their souls a great deal lighter, both fell asleep before their laughter had died out.

(-) (-) (-)

Dr. Betty Director sat rubbing her forehead behind the stacks of paperwork that hid the vast majority of her desktop from view. Anyone who thought that being the founder and supervisor of an multi-national crime fighting organization would be a collection of cocktail parties and exciting adventures in exotic locations did not know the first thing about international affairs. Every operation had to be Okayed with the governments in which she was to send agents, every document filled out in triplicate and then repeated in the language of the foreign nation, read and dedicated to memory. She consistently spent 12-14 hours a day behind this desk, either entangling herself in the noose of bureaucratic red tape, or talking to some pompous foreign (or indigenous) delegate who would on one day berate her for the impudence of questioning his government's motives, and on the next be begging her for assistance as one of the world's super-villains threatened their parliament. And this was when things ran perfectly smoothly.

It did not help that Betty was not a delegator, but a consummate perfectionist who had to have a handle on each and every activity her brain-child took part in. The staff psychiatrists that she had hired to care for her agents made almost weekly pleas that, for the good of her own health, she hire at least a secretary (although a whole management team could easily find itself kept busy by her workload) to remove some of the stress from her life, but the doctor would not be any less high strung if someone else was managing her affairs. If anything, it would make things worse.

There was only one exception to this overbearing worry for the correct direction of world order and justice, that being Team Possible-Stoppable. Where young Miss Possible and Mr Stoppable were involved were the lone examples where Betty would trust things to go right without her guidance, and it was because of this that she lent her support to the teenagers by taking care of the diplomatic faux-paux's they routinely aroused. Their file was huge, no doubting that, but Betty would rather put a few extra hours in keeping them from being labelled extremist vigilantes the world over, than risk losing their skill and ability by taking action against them. And as much as Wil would be loathe to admit it, he knew as well as she did that their prodigious crime-fighting capabilities had saved the reputation of GJ more than once, either in helping them directly or simply covering for them while they were otherwise occupied.

Tonight was another late one for the Global Justice administrator, and despite Ron's unheard statement in the helicopter, Dr. Director did need sleep, and she needed it now. In a manner the afore mentioned blonde would be very familiar with, as he was prone to doing the same thing in his high school math class, Betty's un-covered eye struggled valiantly to stay open as she skimmed the monotonous lines of financial jargon, but, her reading material far from just mildly brain-numbing, the struggle was futile in the end. Had her intercom not sounded at that exact moment, the woman would have found herself lying face down in a pool of her own drool the next morning atop what would be a ruined stack of budget reports. Luckily, however, the high pitched tone startled her to alertness before her semi-conscious form gave up on holding her body erect. And, just as Ron reacted when Barkin _inquired_as to what the class had been discussing from directly overtop the blonde's slumped body, she jerked herself up, banged her knee on the underside of her desk, and fell out of her chair in a shower of loose-leaf and full-scaf. Muttering a few choice phrases that would have gotten the klutzy teen a month of detention, she climbed back up and answered the page.

"Dr. Director here." She said, stifling embarrassment, even though no one had witnessed her own momentary employment of the _Ron Factor_.

"This is Arnold Mason from R&D. Sorry to disturb your paperwork, ma'am, but I need to make a request of you."

_Arnold Mason... _Betty thought, scrolling through her mental rolodex of names. _WestPoint graduate, majored in armament and munitions development, came on board in 04', exemplary researcher, very hard worker, but family at home._ Guessing at what he was calling about, Betty responded.

"I appreciate you staying on later tonight, Arnold. I know you have a new daughter at home, but this is of top priority. I need your expertise, at least until you complete your preliminary report. As soon as that's done, I have no problem with you taking off. In fact, you can have tomorrow for yourself."

"Thank you doctor, but actually... the initial overview is already complete. I was calling to ask if I could get an overnight extension in the lab."

_That's interesting._Betty thought, her assumption turning out to be an about-face from the truth. _He's a committed technician, but he's never tried to needlessly impress. Maybe I overstated the significance of time in this assignment._

"That won't be necessary, Captain. The importance of examining this equipment aside, you don't have hard deadline. And I know you aren't prone to wasting time. Double overtime is not required." She said kindly.

"Ma'am, I don't need the extra pay. I'll do this on my own time." Mason replied, a note of excitement in his voice

_He found something big. _The director thought.

"What is it, Arnold?"

"Well... doctor... there are some aspects of this kit... that... well, if you have a moment, could you come down and see this in person? I'd explain here, I don't want to impede your schedule, but you really need to see this to believe it."

_Something very big._

"Mr. Mason, you do realise I've overseen an operation to stop a man from turning the entire planet into a golf green. You will be hard pressed to tell me something I won't consider possible." Betty said with a mock intonation of offense. She had already decided to make the trip; a while out of her chair would do her good. They always had a harsh pot of coffee on the research and development sublevel anyway. Not keying on her subtext of humour, the former US Ranger replied sombrely.

"I realise that, director. So, extend that dictum when I say this makes Killigan's scheme seem like a parking violation."

"Okay, Captain, you've peaked my interest. Let me finish the paperwork I'm on now, and I'll be there in half an hour."

* * *

Hopefully my about-face for Drakken outlook wasn't too abrupt, but I felt I might start repeating myself if I took it longer, since when it comes to experiences, his are done for now. 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Do not own KP or any of Disney's intellectual property.

Alright, we start with Shego in this chapter. The poor woman has dealt with alot so far, no? Granted it was of her own hand, but we are going to see a little hope start to grow here, from an unlikely (but not so unlikely) source. Part II of the helicopter ride for the hero's, once again they get the more lighthearted part. And finally, there is a peak at some info on the unnamed soldier who started this whole thing. Just a little slice of technobable, but it turned out alright i think.

Thanks again to those who reviewed, and keep them coming.

* * *

Chapter 5: Night of Impossible Possibilities 

Shego didn't bother to clean herself up. Somehow, it didn't seem right that she should look presentable on the outside when on the inside she felt as if she was a subject of Japanese water torture just a few drops short of submersion. So, her cheeks a-streak with mascara runs, eyes red and puffy, nose running, and still holding Drakken's lone laboratory gauntlet like a safety blanket, Shego climbed back into her hovercar, and took off towards no-where in particular. She flew aimlessly into the night for several long minutes blank-minded. It was only after, by some minor imbalance in the hover car's yaw control, she was brought back to the scene of the explosion in a large circle, did she begin to consider where she should go. It was not a matter of simply a roof overhead; she had numerous safe houses around the country, and if worse came to worse she could always check into another skuzy motel. No, it was her need for some, any form of human company.

If anyone had ever told the brash young woman that existed just hours before that she would one day be so completely devastated that she would not just want, but actually need another person to comfort her, she would have laughed in their face before beating them senseless. She was Shego, the elite of the elite in the world of mercenaries and bounty hunters. A woman who had stared down crocodiles, genetically altered dinosaurs, and a multitude of other natural animals and mutant hybrids that could tear limb from limb without hesitation. A woman who had evaded capture by the FBI, NSA, CIA, Navy SEALs, Delta force, INTERPOL, the RCMP, JTF2, Scotland Yard, the SAS, the reformed KGB, and countless other national and private security forces, several of which were so secret that they didn't really answer to anyone, and therefore did not have to explain when they uses tactics that didn't abide by the Geneva Conventions. But here she was, readily submitting to, hell, even accepting the fact that she would need someone to talk to tonight, someone to listen, someone to hold her hand and be there for her while she slept. She was fairly certain her dreams would not be pleasant.

Obviously, she had made scant provision for this eventual requirement for an emotional support network, and even if she had been so inclined, the criminal underworld was not renowned for having upstanding citizens willing to console someone simply from the goodness of their own hearts. Beyond the fact that they were evil, they were also immature, short sighted, and expressively stunted, not exactly ideal candidates for emotional damage control. This much was obvious, considering the fact that they were in the business as a result of their own emotional failings.

The realisation that in her relentless quest for independence and freedom would sooner or later lead to her completely isolating herself was an eventuality that had never bothered the olive skinned villainess in the slightest before tonight, but never before had that prospect ever become reality. And now she had no one. Her family was just as emotionally juvenile as the villains she worked with, the Wego's actually still just children, Mego unable to tear himself away from the mirror, and Hego so dedicated to comic book style heroism that she would hardly get "I killed" out before she would find herself booked at Global Justice Headquarters. She had no friendly relations to speak of, other than a passing master-apprentice affiliation with Senior Senior Junior. In fact, now that she thought about it, the majority of her closest associations were hostile ones.

_A lot of good those will do me. I can just see the Princess now. _Shego thought bitterly. Right now, she hated her long-time rival even more, and at the same time allowed herself the humility to envy her._Perfect life, perfect family, enough friend's to get her around the world a hundred times without paying a cent, faithful, selfless boyfriend who always has her back..._

Just then a solution struck her. An insane, foolhardy and more than likely conceptually flawed solution to be sure, but in times where the rational world seemed to be non-existent, idea's which would have been tossed aside immediately in other conditions carried more validity, and could in fact succeed where conservative routes would fail. She set her co-ordinates into the guidance computer, and settled back for the short trip, thinking about just how in God's name she could make this work without ending up as broken physically as she was emotionally.

(-) (-) (-)

The teen hero's long-fought slumber was maliciously short lived; far too soon the couple was disturbed by the jarring action of the landing skids against the rain-soaked pavement outside of Kim's home. Both youths' subconsciously tried to claw their way back into the realm of their dreams, as one does when being forced into consciousness against one's will. In a motion that had become second nature, Ron moved his free hand to cover his eyes in anticipation of the blast of light that would usually accompany this interruption, as his mother would turn on the lights every morning while rousing him for school. Kimberly grumbled inaudibly, straining her eyes closed and tightening her grip on Ron's arm as she would her Pandaroo when James Possible called her down from her loft for breakfast. In actuality, the distinction between Ron's bicep and her plush sleeping partner had begun to degrade in recent months. However, on nights where Ron's arm replaced the stuffed animal, her father was assuredly not present to awaken his daughter; Ron would flat out refuse to even consider entry into such a situation should it be otherwise. The threat of being sent into a black hole by a certified rocket scientist, for something even as simple as a drawn out kiss in his presence, was simply too great, no matter the allure of the proposition or beauty of the temptress. Unfortunately, the reactionary measures were to no avail, as the pilot slid the side door open and gently nudged his sleeping passengers to alertness.

"Miss Possible, Mr Stoppable, we've arrived at our destination." He said hesitantly, not wishing to disturb them but knowing they would prefer to sleep in the comfort and privacy of actual bed rooms, or bed room as he suspected might be the case. Groaning, the pair began to move to exit the aircraft, but as Kim tried to slide her head out from under Ron's, she found that the sap had dried and now worked as a natural but effective bonding agent between their respective patches' of hair. Ron, not as quick on the up-take on these cues of reality after waking, was not so perceptive in his assessment. Stretching, he moved his own head away without hesitation just as the words of warning were forming in Kim's throat. It was not in a violent gesture but had enough un-damped force to cause the red head to have a second flashback to early elementary school tussles.

"Ron, our hair is..." she began, before the sharp tugging action against her scalp elicited a controlled scream. Surprised both by Kim's cry and the unexplained pricks of pain across his own skull, the essential Ron-ness again showed one of its less admirable qualities as he clumsily dropped out of his seat again, Kim being encouraged by pain and the desire to not have a strip of hair torn away to follow him. And, in a most unceremonious fashion, the world saving team found themselves lying in a heap on the hard aluminum plates of the chopper's floor. Kim may very well have been tweaked, if not for the irony she discovered thinking back to the taunt that had come to her mind when Shego was buried under a pile of pseudo-males. Instead, she couldn't help but laugh that she now found herself in a similar situation, albeit the sexual implications of the position could have been true in her case. Not willing to risk an unintentional scalping, Ron remained motionless, calling out to the stunned whirly bird driver.

"Ummm... little help sir?"

The man was understandably surprised to have witnessed the duo that so frequently saved the world from super-villain conquest, some of whom were no armatures when it came to hand to hand combat, turn out to be so... adolescently clumsy and easily entertained. But he quickly realised they were indeed just adolescents, although ones prone extreme acts of heroism, and it was certainly not unheard of to find people who often put themselves at such extraordinary risks to have hair trigger joviality. At the young man's request, he climbed into the roughly rectangular passenger cabin. He squatted down beside the twosome, examining their intermingling mops of hair. He prodded the dried sap with curiosity.

"What is this stuff?" He asked honestly.

"Its tree sap. I got it in my hair, and it looks like it dried when we fell asleep." Kim explained, omitting their amorous mêlée, but a light touch of embarrassment still coloring her words. The pilot rocked back onto his heels, stroking his stubble for a moment before he snapped his fingers.

"Hold on, I have just the thing." The man, reached up into a cubby hole along the roof console, and withdrew a clear bottle containing a brackish liquid substance. He turned back to the teens, and said.

"You might want to plug your noses, this stuff is pretty putrid." Kim and Ron complied, and, taking his own nose with one hand, the airman popped the cap off the container. Despite their precautions, the smell that assaulted their olfactory senses was enough to make a coroner gag. Poor Rufus, asleep in Ron's pocket, could not heed the warning, and his superior animal sense of smell forced him to do quite a bit more than simply heave. He emerged a semi-digested nacho cheese mess, grasping his snout with both paws, his tongue flailing madly. He cast dagger eyes at the offending member of the _Homo Saipan_ species, but dove back into his vomit soaked refuge when the pilot made his second warning.

"Now, close your eyes. I'm gunna pour this over that mess. It should dissolve it almost as fast as it touches it." He began to tilt it, but then pulled back for one final question.

"Neither of you dye your hair, right? Because I'm pretty sure this will leach out the color if it is unnatural." Both teens shook their heads gingerly, careful not to over stretch the strained bonds in their hair. Nodding with their conformation, he dumped the disgusting smelling solvent on their heads. True to his word, the sap liquefied on contact, and they were almost instantly freed. Then their driver took a canteen and repeated the procedure, washing most of the pungent odour away. Team Possible followed his lead when he relinquished his grasp on his nostrils, Kim running her hands through her now restored, if slightly redolent tresses.

"What is that stuff? Some kind of acid?" Ron asked, revealing the reason why he had barely scraped an acceptable average in Junior Chemistry (although if the demonstrations were as interesting and obviously useful in real life situations as what he had just taken part in, he might have been more successful). The pilot snorted.

"Heck no, that's jungle issue bug repellent. This bird was just rotated back home from Central America, and it hasn't quite had its kit returned to standard just yet. The mechanics have been using this stuff to clean grease off of bearings. The mosquitoes down there must be some big sons-a-bitches." He smirked, before jumping back out of the cabin into the pelting rain. "It's not toxic, but its itches like hell after a while and as you can probably guess, it's not exactly French perfume, so I'd recommend taking a shower before you bed down tonight." The teens followed him outside, hesitating only long enough to say good-bye to the airman

"It was a pleasure, Miss Possible, Mr Stoppable." He said, saluting before extending his hand to both of them.

"Likewise, Lt. Ripley." Kim replied reading his nametag as she took his hand and returning his solid shake.

"Call me Ryan." He said, climbing back into the cockpit. "If you ever need a ride, just ask for Rook. It's my call sign."

"What, like a rookie?" Ron asked feeling some pity for the man, his own experience with that term stemming from the universal rituals of High School Football membership. However, before he brought the rotors up to the lifting threshold, Ryan laughed once again.

"No, for the Chess piece, Ron." And with that, he took off into the stormy night. The pair, once out of the rotor wash, sprinted to under the overhang of Kim's front door to escape the rain. After disengaging the dead-bolt, they hurried into the warm confines of the building, shaking off the accumulated moisture before venturing into the kitchen. The lights had been left on, as they were for all of Kim's late night missions, but the house was had that aura of being empty. Kim's father was away doing work with the Russian Space Agency, but her brother's and mother should have been home. Concern was short lived, though, as Kim noticed a note written in her mother's script.

_Kimmie:_

_Got brought in for a multiple car accident, I was on emergency call. Might not be home till morning. The twins are at the Stoppable's, dinner for you and Ron is in the microwave, I left some of James' clothing for Ron to change into on your bed. Please keep it 14-A. I know your father's not around to threaten Ron into submission, and your both mature young adults but it's still not kosher for you two to be doing those sorts of things at home. And remember, you can never be sure if we have taken care of all the twin's recording devices. Have a good night dear, good night Ron._

_Love Mom_

"Mom, that's just sick and wrong." Kim said to the note, still not comfortable with either of her parents discussing her romantic life, equally in her father's refusal to acknowledge that she was not just his Kimmie-Cub anymore, and in her mother's disconcerting acceptance and support of her daughter's blooming womanhood. It was just alk-weird to discuss it at all with those who had raised her.

_Then again, _the teen thought, _14-A isn't exactly what it used to be..._ She turned, hoping to be able to lay a slightly suggestive glace on her blonde boy toy who had been reading the note over her shoulder. To her dismay, she did not find him considering the same breach to Anne Possible's dictate that she was, but had instead fixated on another line of the message, and now had his head inside the microwave, surveying the food left behind by her mother. _Some things never change. _She thought with a mental sigh. While Ron was no longer the trance-prone mess when it came to sexual innuendo and intonations that were directed at him, he was still just as oblivious as he always had been when such things were being implied in any way other than the most blatant manner.

"Rufus! We have brain-loaf!" He called excitedly to his rodent counterpart, who was currently soaking himself in a makeshift warm water bath in the kitchen sink. While he had looked intensely relaxed, the mention of food brought the border-line gluttonous naked mole rat from his closed eyed reprieve. He pulled his shoulders to the edge of the counter and popped his human the thumbs up while squeaking.

"Hck Boo yah. Hck." After which, he slipped and landed back in the pool of water with a splash. Remembering how she smelled and the fear she had for her hair, despite Ryan's assurance that as long it was naturally coloured it would be fine, she decided Rufus had the right idea.

_One, _the heroine thought mischievously, _that I can build on._

"Ron... Can we shower first? I need to get out of these mission clothes." She cooed, leaning coyly along the cupboard beside him and placing particular emphasis on _we_and_need_. However, as true to form as atomic line spectra, Ron missed even these less than subtle hints. He didn't so much as bat an eyelid.

"Good call KP. This stuff smells disgusting. You can have first dibs; me and Rufus will just hang out down here." Even with her more than a decade of intimate knowledge of Ron's personality and aptitudes, Kim was still somewhat shocked at just how unaware her boyfriend could be at times, and couldn't help but groan as she slid off the wall and headed upstairs. Halfway between floors, though, it seemed that a miracle occurred, as Ron called up after her.

"Hey KP..." He began shyly, the way a person who was about to suggest something that might deeply offend someone's moral code in the asking spoke. Kim halted mid step, and turned to look down towards him.

"Yes, Ron?" She replied with both surprise and anticipation leaking into her tone.

"Well, would you... I dunno... save some warm water for me?" he asked, looking down and fidgeting his foot as if this request brought him great shame. Her hopes of a new, more in-tune boyfriend cruelly dashed, Kim scowled and threw her Kimmunicator at the un-relentingly obtuse male. Growling, she stomped up the final few stairs and slammed the door of the bathroom.

Ron, who had dived to the floor to avoid the magenta projectile, sighed as he ran his hand through his messy blonde locks.

"All you had to say was no." He called up to the closed door.

_Wow, never thought someone could get so tweaked about a few minutes of warm water. _He thought. Kim always managed to unintentionally use up all the heated water after missions, and Ron had never complained before (and technically, still had not complained about it, per-say) but he thought that maybe their relationship had reached that critical point where they could discuss hygienic idiosyncrasies like leaving the seat up, what way to mount the toilet paper, and even shower time._Women._ He walked back into the kitchen, where Rufus was drying himself off with a dish towel.

"You have any idea what that was about, buddy?" He asked rhetorically. As such, he was surprised when his diminutive friend nodded smugly. He began to pantomime, first batting his eyelashes dreamily, then increasingly embellished smoochy faces and for his finale, bent himself over backwards like he was the recipient of one of those Golden Era Hollywood show-stopper kisses. Ron raised his eyebrow in confusion.

"Why would Kim think I was kissing you? It only happened once!"

Rufus stared at his human, mouth open, left eyelid twitching, before he grabbed a nearby spoon and heaved it towards his thick headed master, and for the second time in as many minutes, Ron found himself dodging an object pitched at him by one of his two best friends. Twisting out of the room around the doorframe, Ron hid behind the wall that divided the entrance from the kitchen as the utensil flew by.

_Mole Rats! _He mentally yelled, preparing to re-enter the kitchen. He may have been an easy going guy, but he was not about to let a 12 ounce quadrupedal_ nudist_ muscle him around. Before he left the entry way though, he noticed a shadow against the clouded glass window of the Possible's new door (for once, one of the twin's rockets had not flown through the roof) from the corner of his eye. Thinking it was Mrs. Dr. Possible, Ron decided to forgo his thoughts of good natured revenge for a moment and opened the door. Once the translucent screen was removed however, Ron began to cry for help, but in the split second that he drew breathe, all conventional principles of physics seemed to be thrown out the window, and he instead found himself stifling an all out, glass shattering scream.

(-) (-) (-)

Stepping from the lift onto sublevel 12-A, Dr. Director had one prevailing thought.

_I'm going to fire who ever chose that elevator music. _In any other occupation, the person in question would not lose a second of sleep if he or she been privy to their boss' thoughts, even if she had been serious. After all, in an organization with agent's and support staff numbering the thousands, what right did the management have to keep a detail like that on record? But this was not just any couple odd thousand employee operation, it was Global Justice. And if its lady commander could manage to keep all her subordinates names to memory along with a short biopic, one could imagine the immaculate exposition of perfection her written records took on. If she so chose, she could have their name called up, and issue a pink slip within the hour. However, Betty was not a vindictive woman, and would hardly be able to let someone go for something as trivial of their music selection causing her some mild discomfort. Besides, she had ensured her agents had an able union, and even she could not violate employment standards so flagrantly.

Her irritation came from the fact that she had been forced to endure the exasperating tones for over 10 minutes. The office lifts to the lower levels did not have the sound-barrier defying speed that the field pods did, an unfortunate concession made for weak stomached politicians. Government officials, usually part of some opposition probe looking for frivolous spending to turn on the ruling party, (she was proud to say she had yet to give them any ammunition for Congress) did regularly visit the Global Justice Headquarters, some with the clearance to see the operations floors. However, it did not matter how high their authorization was, their critical attendance to Capitol Hill Tupperware parties and lazy days behind large oak desks left them in sorry condition for the g-forces the high velocity bullet elevators created, and after the second entourage of senator's collectively lost their lunch between the administrative level and the uppermost basement floor (dug some 150 meters down into the bedrock), Betty decided to renovate for the sake of sanitation. Why she opted to use the standard lifts was beyond the woman at this point, something about not wanting to hold up the faster transit if it was needed while she was on a trek that was primarily meant to stretch her legs.

Now that she was on the Research and Development level, she first went to that level's employee lounge, seeking that near-sludge coffee-like substance the workaholic scientists produced here. It was defiantly an acquired distasted, but if you managed to muscle your way past the gag reflex, it was like a shot of pure nitrous oxide to a struggling engine. And the doctor was defiantly had a few cylinders missing. Oddly enough, she did not notice any personnel on her walk between the elevator lobby and the lounge. Even more curious was to find it too was empty. This level literally never slept; there was always at least a skeleton crew on staff here and the fact that she did not see so much as a tech napping on the couches of the break room unsettled her slightly. One way or another, this had something to do with the gear Possible's mystery soldier had on him, this much Betty was sure of. And, after she poured herself a large cup of the mud residing in the coffee maker, she headed directly to Mason's lab.

This time her prediction was proven to have correct foresight, as when she approached the whitewashed door she could hear the hustle and bustle of frenzied lab-junkies permeating the walls. When the automatic doors slid aside to permit her entry, she was not surprised, and more than a little irked, to see the entire R&D staff, some of whom should have long gone home, tinkering away with abandon that belied the long hours they had been working. She glanced down at her as of yet un-sampled beverage, seriously wondering if it had been spiked with some type of methamphetamine. Before that thought could initiate concern, however, she noted a row of mugs sitting on a desk near to her, all full of now cold (and horrifically solid looking) coffee. She now looked out across the room with a renewed appreciation for what Arnold had suggested. The scraps of ragged armour and few pockets full of equipment contained secrets that were astounding enough to keep all these cutting edge minds bolted to their desks in wonder, effectively laying waste to any thoughts of sleep. That being said, it did not excuse the fact that nothing else was being accomplished on a level that had multiple tasks. She caught sight of Captain Mason, who was hunched over a tablet drafting table with another scientist, gesturing wildly at whatever was displayed on the screen, and approached him. The director caught a trailing edge of their conversation as she entered ear-shot.

"...Okay, let's put aside the fracturing for now. What on god's green earth could have eaten this stuff away like that? Did you try the fluoroantimonic Brønsted-Lewis electrophile complex?"

"Hardly etched the surface. I'm telling you Arnold, there's no amphiprotic series in our science that could react that violently with this alloy."

"That's unbelievable Joseph."

"And you have been working on it for the last 3 hours. Imagine my confusion." Betty cut in. Both men stood abruptly, trying feverishly to make themselves look presentable in the presence of their boss. Arnold turned to Joseph Amur, a metallurgical expert, unless the director was mistaken.

"Keep trying Joe, we know that plate isn't impregnable. Find out what managed to mangle it." The east-Indian man nodded curtly, both to his fellow scientist and his employer, before hurrying off. Betty raised an eyebrow towards the broad-shouldered soldier, who looked slightly out of place in a white lab coat.

"I believe you asked if you could stay." Betty grilled, her displeasure shining through, "I don't recall giving you permission to use the entire staff and keep them on overnight. Half of the men and women here have other responsibilities to abide to, Captain. How do you explain this?"

"I'm sorry ma'am, word spreads like the plague down here." He said with a sign, massaging the back of his neck. "I didn't let anyone assist unless they guaranteed that their assigned projects were complete, and they had your blessing. Part one checked out, all the night's priority tasks are over there on the cabinet. I double checked." The man explained. He glared around the room, noting that no one was able to meet his eyes, before continuing. "But I'm guessing everyone wasn't so forthcoming about getting your permission. I'll take responsibility for not ensuring they had consent, director, but I assure you they came of their own free will."

"All of the priority tasks?" She questioned sceptically. "And the results are sound? They are of no good to me if the work is flawed."

"The first person to come by tried that. Rushed, had basic mathematical errors. I sent him back, and disallowed him from participating here. I believe the rest took the hint, but then again, they duped me into believing they had asked you to be here, so I suppose my judgement is suspect." The captain halted, took a breath and locked eyes with his superior. "If you have to fire me, fire me. But, please... let me finish here first. I'll lose my mind if I don't figure out what the hell this armour is made of."

"Well, nothing we can do now, I suppose Mr. Mason." The brunette said after considering him for a several long seconds, softening her tone. The man, a field proven infantry soldier, was begging. And not for his job, but to see the project through. He had taken action to ensure that the general proceedings of his section were not disrupted; to hold him (or any of the men and women working feverously in the lab) accountable would be punishing hard work and team cooperation. And, judging by the pace and focus they showed, like stealing the cure for cancer from a paediatric oncologist. As long as the workmanship of the other investigations did not suffer, it really wasn't that big of a deal. "I'll hold off the court martial till next week, alright? Now, please show me what has my R&D division acting like a gang of underage teens at a frat party."

Arnold nodded, subtly relaxing, and gestured towards the table-sized pallet computer screen. The man's fingers danced over the touch sensitive screen, bringing up a multi-coloured image of some strange shape. Its surface looked like a plane of identically sized, uniformly distributed mountains and valleys, the colours corresponding to the height on the peaks.

"This... is an image of the surface of a slice of titanium taken by a scanning tunnelling microscope. This is the limit of our ability to visualize matter; anything below it is still theoretical. Each ridge represents a single nucleus of titanium, and the surrounding depression is the electron cloud. As you can see, they are densely packed together. If I wanted to, I could actually pick up a single atom with the STM probe and move it somewhere else. A whole field of computer research is dedicated to using this capability to construct microscopic computers, and while there are still significant hurdles to overcome, the goal is to make a processing unit as powerful as a full sized desk-top and shrink it down to the size of a grain of sand." Betty nodded.

"I've heard of this. Didn't IBM spell their acronym out in atoms in the 80's?"

"That's correct. I believe it's the smallest human artefact in existence."

"I understand this is cutting edge stuff, captain, but I don't see how this is unbelievable."

"Patience, mein direktor. Now, titanium is a pretty versatile material. Strong, yet light. But not the strongest, or the lightest. Kind of the middle-ground. This," Arnold elaborated, bringing up another image, this one with much larger 'mountain peaks' "is high carbon steel. Incredibly strong, but also very, very heavy. Larger nuclei, more massive, basic atomic chemistry. What you might notice though, is that despite the differences, these materials' structures are basically the same. Now, here's an image of the armour our guest was wearing." Tapping the table, his hand actually quivering with excitement, Mason produced a third atomic scan. This one, however, was worlds different from the first pair. Instead of the surface being more or less a solid slab of atoms, this sample had a complex triangular structure to it. In the place of a concentrated grouping of individual nuclei, the majority of the material was open space.

"What is that...?"

"I would describe it as picoscopic structuralization. It's a well known engineering fact that a triangle is a much more efficient load-bearing design than a solid mass. It's lighter, and just as strong, if not stronger. This alloy has been designed and constructed, atom by atom, with that in mind. The breast plate is lighter than aluminum of comparable volume, but has more strength than spent uranium armour over 3 times its thickness."

"Who could have built this? Dementor? Dr. Drakken?"

"Ma'am..." The scientist slowly said, as if was still difficult for him to believe himself. "No one on the planet could have created this armour." He held up his hand before Betty could mention any one of their nefarious opponent's history of using technologically advanced devices, stolen or otherwise. "It's not a matter of process. As you know we already have the capacity to handle individual atoms. It's time. We are talking about trillions upon trillion's of individual components within a square inch of the alloy. It would be like trying to take all the sand in Malibu and using it to write out Hamlet using a pair of tweezers and a magnifying glass. With today's technology, it would take well over 50 years of non-stop work to produce less than a 20th of the surface area of the armour. In terms of a metallic alloy, a few hundred pounds of this would easily out-value all of the confirmed and projected gold reserves planet wide. And this plate has a 7 digit serial number etched into it, worn by a general infantry Private. That means it was mass produced. As mind blowing as that is, it's just the bare bones of the mysteries the composite holds, without even delving into the more complex devices he was carrying."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, how much of mine and Joseph's conversation did you overhear?"

"All after 'putting aside the fracturing.'"

"Alright. I submitted the armour to a whole myriad of strength tests once I had a clue as to its underlying composition. All the standard trials managed to tell me was that our analytical devices aren't built strong enough." He halted, as if catching himself. "Which reminds me... you might have to budget for a new tension-compression stress tower. Apparently it wasn't rated over 20'000 psi." Before the befuddled woman could reply, he continued. "The alloy resisted over 4000 Kelvin in the kiln, which is the point when it shut down because it melted its own heating elements. Might have to get a new one of those too... Anyway, like I said, laboratory style tests weren't telling me anything, so I decided to do some simulated field testing. Went through all of NATO and former Warsaw Pact small-arms, full metal jacket and Teflon armour piercing rounds, then on to .50 calibre varieties. After they didn't do the trick I got fancy. Uranium tipped anti-tank rounds." He paused again, smirking slightly "I have to ask, why do we have an A-10 Thunderbolt nose cannon down here?"

"I'd rather have it than not if another Tyrannosaurus Rex decides to drop by."

"Wait... DNAmy's giant reptiles?" Mason thought aloud. "Touché... In any event, the burp gun finally managed to punch through, but other than that I haven't been able to so much as dent the thing. That kind of strength and durability goes beyond the structualization, it requires a composite element that isn't even on the periodic table."

"What was that about amphiprotic series?"

"That's another thing about this alloy. It's completely inert. The fluoroantimonic complex is the most powerful acid known to chemistry. In general, the pH scale is between 0 and 14, the lower number, the more acidic, each integer down representing an increase of 10 times the acidity of the last value. Most Sulphuric acid is at best 0.5. Fluoro-antimonia is -24. There is hardly a metallic compound I could find that wouldn't begin to dissolve within minutes of emersion, but you heard Joe, it didn't even tickle that breast plate. I'd almost compare it to a solid noble gas, except whatever this element is, it makes the noble's look like the halogen series."

"So what you're telling me is this armour not only shouldn't exist, but as far as you know, couldn't exist?"

"Ma'am, I'm a firm believer in the concept that no theory is fact... but if I had to give an estimate, I'd say that that armour is a full 200 years of principle revolutions in the chemical and physical sciences beyond any meaningful understanding."

"You know what, Arnold? You were right. If I didn't see this for myself, I wouldn't have believed you."

"I'm not quite finished Director. I've convinced you how tough this alloy is, yes?"

"Most defiantly."

"Well, here's the biggest mystery of all. With this metal defying almost all my attempts at even chipping it's paint job, you really have to wonder what that man was facing that could rip through it like tissue paper and melt it like butter on popcorn."

The statement hung in the air for a few moments, before Dr. Director nodded, placing her own un-sipped coffee down as she sat on a nearby lab stool. After being given the general rundown, she found that, like everyone else in the room, she no longer needed its boost. But while the scientists were brought to this insomniac state from the excitement of having a peek at technology and theoretical applications that were centuries ahead of anything they had ever dreamed of, Betty found her mind churning at the magnitude of the threat whom or whatever damaged the armour posed to the world.

"Mr. Mason, consider yourself to have a permanent night pass. Utilize any and all resources you deem necessary to gain a full understanding of this technology." In response, Arnold nodded hesitantly, scratching his chin.

"Dr. Director... I appreciate the extra assets, but it'll take years, decades even, to reverse engineer any of this down to a point where we can reproduce it. At this stage, the only way to expedite the process lies in the man who came in wearing this stuff. Being an enlistee, he probably didn't go through post secondary, but in all likely-hood what he learned in high school will have our PhDs over-barrel. At the very least, he will be able to tell us what did this to him."

"I'll keep that in mind captain. Unfortunately, he's comatose for now, and the surgeon's aren't sure when or if he will wake up. The best I can do, until that condition changes, is forward you a copy of Team Possible's report." _Looks like I'm going to have to call Mr. Load and take back my lenient schedule._

"That will be a starting point. Just finding out where this guy appeared from could help us along."

"Keep me posted, Mr. Mason. Unless there's anything else?"

"Oh, yeah one more thing." The scientist said, turning and retrieving a manila file folder. "Here's the complete report on what we've managed to glean off of the other devices he had on him. Also, I've printed out as much Intel I could gather off of our man from documents on his person. It's not much, but it might help you find out more about him. I'll try to have a preliminary equipment and personnel requisition ready by tomorrow morning." He handed it to the brunette. She flipped it open, looking over the photos of half-dissolved dog tags and ID cards.

"So John Doe is now William Doe." She said idly as she stood, mind growing heavier the more she thought of the possible outcomes. "Thank you captain. I'll let you get back to work." She would be taking the turbo lift back to her office. Her instincts, fully aflame, would allow her act in no manner other than full alert until she had an explanation from Kimberly Anne. Her first order of business was thusly to rouse the young Load from sleep and have him contact his team-mates. Convenience had just bowed to urgency.

* * *

So what do you think? Should they be worried? If you are familiar with the other crossover series, this chapter is full of references to it. Some are blatent, and some are more subtle. But they are there. For any reviewers, a direct question. How am I doing keeping the time line in the story straight? This chapter didn't have many perspective shifts, but I wonder about how clear and easy to follow the progression of time is so far. 


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Do not own Kim Possible or any associated intellectual property that is clearly that of Disney. Story is written for personal enrichment only.

Going to keep this short. Two of the 4 separate story-lines come together here. For some, what transpires might come as a shock, but it will make sense, or at least I tried my damnedest to make it so.

Enjoy, and as always, review if you see something you like.

* * *

Chapter 6: Tendencies Observed, Meaningless. Tendencies Experienced, Constant.

Despite the dire consequences that lay in not having a concrete explanation prepared before entering the proverbial lion's den, when Shego found herself in front of the home of her arch nemesis and rival, hand hovering inches away from the door prepared to knock, she still with no inkling as to how this course of action had any possibility of succeeding. But then, how would a rational justification for what she sought of the hero go?

_"Hiya Princess. I know we haven't always been on the best of terms... Okay, that's a bit of an understatement... but do you think you could put aside all the time's I've tried to kill you, enslave your family, destroy your home town, bring down society at large and otherwise make your life miserable and lend me your boyfriend? Sure it's short notice, and you probably think it's just me trying to play you by fooling around with his heart (cause both of us know he's had a crush on me for years) but I really do need his skills as a total sweetheart. He's the only one nice enough to listen to me bitch and moan about how me and my big ego managed to kill the single person who gave half a damn about me. That person being maybe the only one who did more than me to screw with your existence. And if it's not too much trouble Kim, could you let me hold his hand and stay with him tonight? I could really just use a warm body to hold on to. Yeah, maybe it's a tad intimate, but aren't you hero's all about helping people?" _

And cue the red-head's mirthless laughter, followed by fight scene. None of the other scenarios she had gone through on the trip here sounded any more plausible than that one (although the one where she simply eliminated the ginger-haired obstacle had gained high praise from Desire) and as she stood uncomfortably on the door-step, she suddenly lost her nerve. She had thought she had found a light at the end of a long dark tunnel, but now she had convinced herself it was nothing more than a crazed, unfounded last hope and she withdrew the hand she had extended to knock.

_It was a stupid idea anyway. _Desire said in the back of her mind. A few more tears escaped her eyes as despair began to set back in. Sniffling, she wiped her nose against the sleeve in an about as unladylike a gesture a girl could do in sadness, as she began to turn to walk back to the hover car. But then, the door opened.

The blast of light from inside the house stunned her for a second, and she stood like a deer in the headlights. There was Stoppable, the only person she knew of who might possibly bear her any sympathy, unaccompanied by her red headed adversary. She saw his smile, the happy-go-lucky grin that had enraged, yet obviously had insidiously created an equally endearing effect on her, and then saw it morph into a look of terror. She knew she needed to speak before he ran, but just as in her musings on the ride over, her mind was blank as to how to explain her presence. All that ran through her head were the eddies of sorrow and regret, threatening to overcome her yet again. Lacking meaningful thought, she acted on the same impulse that brought her here, blind trust in his nature, and wrapped her arms around him like a life preserver.

(-) (-) (-)

_I'm gunna die. I'm gunna die. I'm gunna die. I'm gunna die. I'm gunna die. I'm gunna die. _Ron silently screamed, the unverbalised phrase repeating more furiously the longer he remained in what he had now decided must be some exotic and lethal choke hold. It had to be, the other rationalization was ludicrous. It had all the strength of an attack, its lack of the swiftness likely meaningless. Shego was just stalling, he convinced himself, just letting him see the end coming so he would die thinking about all his regrets, probably hoping to have Kim catch a glimpse just before she snapped his neck as a bonus. That was more the villainess' style, savouring her victim's fear as long as she could, not the other explanation. But, against all natural laws and every right of fate, the death-blow did not come. They stood for several long moments, Shego clutching his form tightly, and Ron standing stiff as a board in fright. Finally, Ron's mind overcame the continuing siren of his impending doom.

_This has the weirdest hold ever. _he thought.It was not just in the fact that she had not moved since the initial contact either. The whole position her body took did not lend itself to combat. She left his arms free, reaching around his upper torso in a gesture that really did not restrict his ability to defend himself in any way. Although the force from her arms was considerable, she had no complementary energy from her ground posture. If this was a throw, her stance was too narrow for it to be successful, and she stood far too light on her feet to even hope to shift his mass. But the most telling deviation from offensive posturing came from her head. It lay on his shoulder, nuzzled into his neck; while this too could have been an aspect of a submission hold, it was far too hesitant, and whatever force there was, was applied through the delicate features of her face; her nose, eyes, cheek bones and mouth. The curious situation forced Ron's senses to strain for more information, and that's when he noticed a warm dampness accompanying the almost gentle pressure against his neck. Once the din of his internal monologue cooled and he could again hear sounds outside his own head, the soft sobbing that emanated mere inches from his ear brought the reality of the circumstance into sharp focus.

_Is Shego crying?_

This possibility was almost as unbelievable as the original notion, but in his mind the visual images that he had not taken into account after his instantaneous panic returned, and he saw her tear streaked face, swollen eyes and general dishevelled look of anguish. The appearance of sorrow was something he had never seen adorn the young woman's features before, and he had only ever seen her in such a state of disrepair after she had taken some embarrassing spill, after which she was always furious. So, perhaps understandably, he had initially interpreted her to be seething when he had opened the door to find her standing on the doorstep. But now, no matter the assumed impossibility of it, Ron had to finally relent to the facts of the state of affairs.

_Shego is hugging me... the most dangerous and emotionally untouchable woman I have ever known is crying on my shoulder and squeezing me like a teddy bear._The admission sent his already embattled mind into a tailspin. It was so many levels of wrong that his logical thought processes shorted out, leaving him just with his prevailing reflexes. And Ron knew only one way to react when a girl came running to him in tears. He returned the villainess' embrace.

This drew a great shudder from the green hued woman, and her sobbing transformed into a fully developed bawl. For a second Ron began to withdraw, thinking he had misinterpreted, that he was making things worse, not that that made much sense. And, really, nothing in the last few instants made a lick of sense, so why should this? However, as he loosened his grasp, Shego stepped even farther into his personal space, going from toe to toe to arch to arch, and her already vice-like grip tightened even further. Although Kim and Rufus might have tonight been greatly predisposed to lambasting the blonde's capability to make decisions from body language and inferred information, he did not miss this prompt.

"Okay Shego. I won't let go." He whispered to her, stroking her back gently. Her crying seemed to lessen somewhat, and she allowed him the ability to take breath again, which Ron greatly appreciated. Things calmed down in his mind yet another level, to one where he could realise they were standing outside in the on-going deluge of rain. Not knowing what had happened to his girlfriend's foe, but certain that whatever it was would have been as draining physically as it was emotionally, he guided Shego inside.

His oft maligned instincts were proven correct as he ended up half carrying the exhausted woman into the kitchen, seating her at the table. Ron left the villainess for a moment, swiping a box of tissue paper that was conveniently sitting atop the kitchen counter, and then dragged a second chair from the table and sat directly across from her. He offered her a handful of the disposable handkerchiefs, which she accepted gingerly, careful with her razor-edged gloves, worn by quivering hands, near the exposed skin of his palm. She blew her nose, not meeting his eyes, the clearing of her nasal passages the only sound cutting through the awkward silence that had fell over the kitchen.

(-) (-) (-)

The seconds that it took Ron to assess and react were among the most drawn out and emotionally precarious Shego had ever experienced. The instant her hands met along his spine she was awash with the relief of simple plutonic human contact, a comfort she had denied herself for nearly a decade as a weakness. She was not at peace though. Almost as soon as the slight lifting of her spirits occurred, her chakras exploded in a chorus of protest. Although they were united in their disgust at what their mind had enacted, as always each had polar reasons for doing so.

Desire flew off the handle for how far Shego had allowed her own independence to be shattered to such a degree. It was beyond the amalgamation of ego and self preservation to see the profound value that relationships, that trusting another, could hold. Even the long-time association with Drakken, for her part at least, was always dismissed as a temporary exercise for her convenience. If not for her being chained to Reticence, she told herself, she would not even be here.

Her partner, on the other hand, derided Shego for daring to consider herself worthy of his help, and demanding his support in such a direct and disrespectful fashion. It was not the responsibility of someone who had bore nothing but her contempt and multiple attempts on his life to grant her comfort, nor was it her right to place him in such a situation where he would have to choose between his loyalty to his best friend and the law, or his naive, innocent, immature, elegant, deep, magnificent capacity to understand and forgive. His hesitation in returning her embrace served the both of the detracting spirits.

_Look what reaching out's gotten you, princess. How long are you going to hang here before you realise he doesn't care? Do yourself a favour and cut this pitiful display short while you can still salvage some semblance of respect._

_For once, I agree. Don't put this on him, don't take advantage of the best in him for yourself. He has a wonderful life without you coming into it to screw it up. Don't make him choose between aiding you and doing what should be done, because you know where he will lay his cards. Yes, salvage some respect, the self respect you used to have. Even if no one will ever know, do the honourable thing for once, and let go before he can decide to help you. _

Shego's governing consciousness simultaneously acknowledged and resisted both these feelings, her defiance keeping her clinging to the still blonde for that next second, and her acceptance bringing forth tears against the young man's neck. His continued immobility gave credence to Desire's viewpoint, all the while the longer she lingered the more Reticence's suggestion grated into her. She truly did not want to drag Stoppable into her plight, but neither did she want to weather this storm alone. However, the longer she stood, waiting, feeling the man's vacillation, the more the former overpowered the latter. She was about to give in, recede back into loneliness and despondency, when Ron finally made his choice.

If the act of hugging him was like a single warming ray of sunshine in the black skies of a Pacific squall, the reciprocation of the gesture was to be basking in a meadow filled with Lilies and Baby's Breath on a cloudless spring day. Desire was silenced in a fashion that the unabashed instinct had never been before. Had she been a physical entity, she would have sat abruptly, and stared down at whatever inanimate surface was present, much like how an overconfident student held themselves in their desk after being outdone by a teacher. Reticence's argument was not so handily defeated by the blonde's selfless action, on the contrary she could have easily fed on it, if she was not so touched and shaken by that very gallantry. For, with the same commitment that Desire scoffed companionship aside, the heroic remnant craved it as a traveller lost in a desert yearned for water. The emotional and societal seclusion that the more dominant dark element imposed on her did not suppress this thirst, but aggravated it. And, like being kept in the dark for so long and then being cast into the light blinds a person, the sudden and unexpected return of un-obligated, unearned concern knocked Reticence from her soap-box. She bathed in the wonderful influx of acceptance, and joined her core psyche in the joy of the moment. The tears of sorrow were over-ridden and overwhelmed by tears of happiness for the glorious acquiescence; something that she did not deserve, something that she was in no way precious enough to merit, something that she could never hope to repay. Thus there was no voice to resist her reaction when the boy waivered at the feedback to his physical answer, and she denied him the opportunity to mistake her reaction for revulsion. He said something, what the words were did not matter, his tone and the reassuring caress of his hand against her back said it all.

Like a marathon runner just crossing the finish-line, her desperation-drawn strength seemed to be spent after her goal was reached, and she found herself being gently brought into the house. She let him guide her to the kitchen and seat her, and took his offering of tissue paper. He was nothing if not compassionate, the risk he had already placed himself at by hugging her back quadrupled by his allowing her into Kim's home, but he did so without any hesitation (once he had collected himself by what she was certain had to be the number one shock of his life). After clearing the watered down mucus from her septum, she looked towards the face of her benefactor. But the olive skinned villainess found herself unable to meet his eyes due to this almost divine sensitivity, and quickly flicked her glance to the floor. It seemed the boy was not satisfied with merely having 90 percent of the qualities of an angel however, and he decided to go once again go beyond anything that Shego would have expected.

(-) (-) (-)

In the stillness of the kitchen, certain lines of thought (some would call them sanity and reason) began to re-assert themselves in the wake of Ron's naturally driven impulse. Questions, reasonable ones too, settled heavily on his consciousness, not the least of them what he intended to do from here. What would he say to her? He had nothing to go on as to how to approach her, even in the exposed state she was in. And even if he did, this was still Shego, no matter her emotional condition; wanted criminal and sworn enemy of the woman who meant more to him that life itself. There was the inescapable possibility that this was a ruse, though it did not fit Shego's usual profile. Like Kim, she was a straight forward person when it came to things, leaving the convoluted, complex plans to her employer.

But, in that instant that her wide, pleading eyes met his before she turned them away, this similarity took on new depth, as he saw for the first time the remarkable resemblance her emerald soul-windows had to Kim's. Of course, he had never seen them in such a way, they had always been the hard, icy glare of an enemy, while he had seen Kim's through the entire spectrum of emotion through the years. Was it so long ago that he had gazed into another broken set of green eyes, eyes which had been so strong and unerring before then, and decided that he would throw caution to the wind and do whatever it took to ensure he never saw those eyes like that again? So long ago that he risked the loss of something whose value was so beyond measure, Kim's friendship, that it made the risk of physical harm he thought he was in seconds ago seem insignificant by comparison, just to preserve that brave glance? It did not matter which side Shego was on, nor what she had done in the past, Ron could not stand to see something so rare and fragile disappear, let a wound so deep go untreated. Looking at her through new lenses, the blonde finally overcame the ingrained image of Shego the warrior and saw Shego the woman, hurt, alone, and in need of a friend.

He no longer just acted on instinct, his entire mind came together and dictated his action now. For Ron, this was a rare event, being so focused on one thing. In fact, the only times it had happened before were for Kim. The pain on her face, written in the smooth curves of her washed out mascara, became a distasteful stain that marred his new-found appreciation for her beauty. He took another sheet of tissue paper, and with his free hand gently lifted the woman's face to normal angle with his. As he took another look into her eyes, he saw fear and confusion mixed with the imploring flavour he had detected before. He smiled, and softly wiped the streaks from her face, before releasing her chin and speaking.

"It's alright Shego. I'm here. What's happened?"

(-) (-) (-)

Nothing that she had seen or heard of, between the Go Tower to the sewers that her work with Drakken sometimes required she enter, could have prepared Shego for Ron's action, or its aftermath. It seemed that she had been correct about the blonde, that his code was as binding to him for those on the side opposing good as it was to good itself, but only in its quality, not its quantity. Returning a hug that was forced upon him was one thing, but initiating the form of close, almost affectionate contact that he had was quite another. First of all, he did so without the fear that if he had not done so would result in copious amounts of pain (as failing to reciprocate the embrace might have.) To instigate such contact professed genuine concern for her well-being; not simply an attachment to some principle, but action by inclination. Doing so also suggested that he not only could care about her, which was shocking enough to the mint-hued villainess, but that he in fact trusted her. Trusted her not to lash out at him for being so forward as to take control of the situation, not to simply be a wailing wall for her anguish and frustration. Many men had wound up singed and slashed for trying to be chivalrous around her, most of them for lack of appreciation of just how dangerous she could be. But Ron was more than well aquatinted with her snap-show lethality, and even with that knowledge persisted in risking broken limb and life in his course of action. Maybe it was because his gentility was a legitimate tendency, not just a mask. Once again Shego found herself in disbelief of how such an innocent offering, what would be considered almost idiotic on any other day, could be so innately wise and prolific, that it could cut through walls she could not tear down even if she wanted to.

And then there was the actual tactile contact. If the sensation of his fingertips did not still tingle on her cheek, she would have difficulty believing the soft, but steady hands that wiped away her tear-streaks belonged to the same klutz sidekick she had observed over the years. That the same boy who seemed to have an aptitude for destroying anything he laid his hands on with a speed that even her plasma powers could not compete with, was able to handle any task with such care. It was so simple an act, superficial and uninvasive, yet those few seconds of contact stirred more than comfort, more than tranquility. For the first time in a long time, stretching back even farther than when Desire and Reticence became two, Shego felt... safe. In less than 5 minutes, Kim's sidekick had accomplished what no other person she had known since high school had been able to. A ghost of a smile graced her face, as hope finally became more than distant spectre, or a trick of the light.

Embraced by this sense security, Shego reached her other hand up, and relinquished her grip on the item she had held so tightly up until now an observer might expect it had become fused with her palm. As Drakken's lab gauntlet fell to the table, however, the smile faltered, between the miserable frown she initially wore, to an almost hysterical grin, and back again.

Ron looked at it for a moment, a look of confusion flowing to questioning to comprehension and finally understanding. He looked up at her, those kind brown orbs gently questioning, but not judging, her. She nodded in confirmation.

"Dr. Drakken's gone?" Another nod.

"Are you okay?" Now that was the sort of inept thing she expected of the sidekick. She shot him a glance which he much more familiar with, a dry look, her eyebrow raised as if she could not believe he would ask such a stupid question. To her genuine surprise, however, he didn't backpedal... much...

"Okay, dumb question, fine. It still stands."

"Do I look alright, Stoppable?"

"Can I answer truthfully without getting my eyes clawed out?"

"I can think of better places to go than my arch-enemy's digs if I just want to be flattered."

"Then I better keep my mouth shut."

"Look, Stoppable. I'm not here to hurt... wait, what?" _Did he just say I looked alright? _Shego caught herself. _ Okay, new explanation. He's so scared he's lost touch with reality._

The stupid grin he had on his lips certainly seemed to agree with this assessment, but in spite of this she found her cheeks warming slightly. It wasn't often a girl was told she looked acceptable when she knew she was a complete wreck, even less common was it when it was from someone she had on many occasions severely beaten. Of course, when faced with 10 razor tipped claws and the ability to emulate Russia's WWII scorched earth policy at a moment's notice, men tended to lie through their teeth. Because if what they had to say displeased her, they risked losing every single one of them. Ron definitely had a history of doing exactly that, throwing out everything but a bald face "I didn't do it" when she cornered him. Having been exposed to the blonde's tells on such a regular basis gave Shego a pretty good idea of when he was lying. Actually, you would have to def, blind and dumb not to know when Stoppable wasn't telling the truth, the boy was about as capable of running a decent bluff as a fish was able to breathe out of water. And, so far as she could tell, Ron had actually given her his honest opinion, unless she had somehow missed the hyperventilation, voice cracks and fidgeting.

"What happened?" He asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"We um... well... he... ah..." Shego fumbled her words.

_Great. You managed to do the impossible and find someone more than willing to listen to you and now your freaking tongue-tied. _It seemed knowing you had done something terrible and actually putting that knowledge to words were two very different animals. Never did Shego think she'd see the day that Stoppable was more eloquent than she was.

"I..."

_Just say it._

"I... erm..."

_For Christ sakes, say the freaking words._

"Stoppable... I..."

_SAY IT._

"I killed him." Finally, Shego muscled the phrase out. Then the dam bust. "It was an accident. We got in a fight, and I kicked him out of the hovercar and left him on the side of the road. I wanted to teach him a lesson so I took all his stuff and wired the lab to blow up before he got back, but he made it back in time to be inside when it happened but I didn't mean for him to get back that soon and I went back looking for him but all I found was his glove and... and I... I've never killed anyone before Stoppable. Not even when I wanted to, but now I've killed the only person who even kinda accepted me. I didn't mean for him to die... I didn't mean it." When her steam ran out, she was tearing up again, so Ron handed her another tissue.

"It's alright Shego. Now, once more, but a little slower, okay?" She blew her nose again, and nodded. It came easier this time, not requiring her to force it, more or less under her control. She told him the whole story, leaving nothing out, not even her bout with the porcelain throne. Ron sat back and listened intently, keeping his eyes on hers. Oddly enough, delving back into the nightmare wasn't nearly as painful as she had anticipated it would. This was almost certainly due to Stoppable's presence. He did not interrupt, fixating his attention on her, patiently letting her move herself along at a pace she was comfortable with. It was nice to have someone just sit and listen for once, doubly when normally that person was the most hyperactive person imaginable, but managed to reserve their attention for you.

_No wonder Kimmie looks past all his weirdness. Keep him away from self-destruct buttons and this kid is pure gold. _She thought as she finished. But now came the real test. What, with the whole terrible plot revealed, would he do?

Shego watched him as he fidgeted and his eyes glazed over. Their eyes lost contact, this time him looking down to the floor. His breathing became less calm, not exactly sighing but defiantly disturbed and his shoulders sagged. What was he thinking?

_Probably trying to keep his dinner down. _One of the voices said, which one Shego could not tell. Whichever it was, she agreed this time. She didn't really expect him to agree to help her once he found out what she had done, did she? His listening was enough, more in fact than she deserved, and he was a hero. Whatever help he could offer would be linked inextricably to her turning herself in.

"I'm sorry for involving you into this Stoppable. This has nothing to do with you. I should just go..." Shego said with a sigh after the long pause. She rose, and reached for Drakken's glove.

(-) (-) (-)

When she finally ended her story, Ron leaned forward, rubbing the back of his neck. He'd known something was wrong, but Drakken dead? Shego really did go big or just go home. The blonde could not help but feel a pang of sadness for the loss of the blue doctor. Yeah, he wasn't exactly what you would call a friend, but he grew on you, and his demise still struck close to the heart. It was as if, with his death, something had been lost. Maybe it was a sense of invincibility, on both sides, that no matter what happened they could dust themselves off after the lab collapsed, exchange parting phrases and meet again next week, kind of like a friendly free-for-all clash of Zombie Mayhem. And after almost 4 years in the game, he and KP had been able to avoid any terminal casualties. But this was real life, no matter how Kim managed to violate the laws of chance, something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. And considering the volatile nature of Dr. Drakken's and Shego's relationship, combined with their seemingly limitless access to things that go boom or zap, Ron would be inclined to have bet on sooner. He didn't think she was lying about it being an accident, however; for all her violent tendencies Shego had never taken that last step despite ample opportunity and motive. She probably did place more than a sufficient buffer to have the building explode while he was still miles away. Unfortunately for her though, the not-so-good doctor was most talented (if you could call it a talent) in being right where the hurt was about to be laid down. If there was a rock in need of the back of a head, Drakken would be there. If a vase was knocked off a balcony, he would be under it. And if there was a fragile component on one of his devices... well, The Ron-Man would find it. Add to that his bumbling, obtuse ways and a certain tendency to say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time, without Shego to drag his sorry blue behind out of danger it really was no contest. Being his closest ally, Shego should have anticipated this occurrence, explainable or not. But, Ron himself often failed to predict the outcomes of far less complicated exercises, and had always had someone there to re-assure him. For him to withhold help from the poor girl sitting across from him would terribly unfair and unforgivably hypocritical.

Shego's apology brought him from his thoughts. And as she reached for Drakken's gauntlet, Ron grabbed a-hold of her gloved hand, stopping her. She looked at him questioningly.

"You don't have to go Shego. This is just a lot of information to process at once, you know?"

A curt nod telegraphed her understanding, and she relinquished the gauntlet. However, she did not retract her hand. Wary of the thin ice he walked, Ron did not withdraw either.

"I believe you when you say you didn't mean to kill him. To be honest, considering what you two do for a living this sort of thing is almost par for the course." There was a glint of a smile again. "I'd like to help you Shego... I'm not really sure what I can do, but... I can have your back, if that makes any difference."

To cement his point, Ron gave Shego's hand an encouraging squeeze. However, in response, much to the blonde's surprise, the olive skinned woman winced and let out a short cry of pain. In a sharp motion, she extracted her hand from his and clutched it tentatively near her chest. Almost immediately she composed herself, and looked back up to the slighted boy.

"I'm sorry, Stoppable, it's just..." her explanation trailed off as Ron again took her hand, much more gently this time, examining the graceful, yet oh-so-dangerous digits. He looked to her, inclining his head towards her hand. Shego nodded, and he slowly removed the battle glove, revealing her terribly lacerated fingers, awash in hunter-green blood.

"I scraped them up pretty badly before I found Dr. D's glove." She finished.

"Well, this is something I _can_ help with." Ron replied, beginning to stand. But then he halted mid-rise. "If that's what you want. My help, that is... not to say that you need it, I mean... but you know if you'd be okay with it..." Even after all he had been privy to tonight, it still sounded boarder-line nonsensical for him, Ron Stoppable, to be offering Shego help. For her to accept would be on the same level as Bonnie deciding to follow his fashion advice. It was almost a categorically incoherent concept, but after only the briefest of pauses did the older woman smile subtly again, not an overt facial expression but it seemed to be the most stable and sure one of the night.

"I'd like that Stoppa... Ron."

Now with her permission, the blonde released the villainess' palm, finished standing and ducked out of the kitchen. He made the quick journey to the main-floor bathroom where Mrs. Dr. Possible kept an assortment of gauze, bandages, and other medical paraphernalia stocked in the cupboard. He knew his way around this beefed up medicine cabinet as he had visited it on more occasions than he wished to recall, reasons ranging from the good doctor's daughter (saving the world resulted in more than a few bumps and bruises), her sons (before he learned just how dangerous the twin's experiments could be), her husband (emotional care was also included), and most often because of his own hand (or foot). He kneeled down, opened the cubby, and began searching its confines. Once he located what he estimated he would need to soothe Shego's physical wounds, he turned on his heel and prepared to stand and grab towels for the two of them (considering they were both soaked), but was then blindsided by a pink blur. Rufus embraced his human's neck tightly.

"Whoa whoa whoa, hold up Rufus! What's going on?" Ron asked as he patted his pets back softly.

"Hck Hck. Ron safe." The rodent replied, snuggling in tighter a second longer before taking a step back.

"Of course I'm safe. Why wouldn't I be?" Ron questioned, this time in confusion more than surprise. Rufus was taken aback slightly, shaking his head violently and blinking rapidly in his shock. To him the answer was perfectly clear, but his master's look, one of little to no recognition, remained. So the small creature turned and pointed aggressively toward the kitchen.

"Hnn, Shego!"

"Wha... oh!" Ron exclaimed, smacking his forehead. "Listen, Rufus, Shego's cool. She's not here to hurt anybody."

"Huh?" Rufus squeaked, again being caught in a frenzy of cranial spasms at the statement.

"I know it sounds crazy, but Shego needs our help. She just came to talk." This time it was Rufus' who looked completely and utterly lost, so Ron spread his arms wide, indicating himself.

"How else do you explain this?"

The fact that Ron was completely unharmed after being alone in a room with Shego for the better part of an hour was enough to convince the intelligent mole rat that his friend's story was true, if unbelievable. Like Ron, Rufus was not an overly suspicious animal, and if Ron thought Shego wasn't going to do any harm, it was good enough for the little mammal. Still, if this had happened, it was time to re-evaluate whether or not the moon was made of cheese, despite Mr. Dr. Possible's guarantees to it not being so.

"Wait a minute. Where were you anyway?" Ron said, realising that he had not seen Rufus since he had ushered Shego into the kitchen, despite it being where he had left the naked mole rat before opening the front door. He hadn't noticed it before, for obvious reasons, but now that he thought about it, it was a ferociously odd coincidence. Un-encouragingly, Rufus stiffened at the question.

"Uh oh."

"What do you mean 'Uh oh'?" Ron inquired nervously. He felt a cold flush run through his back, the sort you get when you realise you've left something like a wallet or set of keys behind in a restaurant or at the gym. There was a sudden stillness about the house that bothered him, and the phrase 'Uh oh' never had positive results. The pink creature took up a very timid stance and mumbled something that escaped the blonde's hearing, despite the speaker being on the listener's shoulder.

"What was that?" Ron insisted, the cold flush transforming into that irritating, body wide dryness, the kind that signals a full on fight or flight response is in the tubes. Although he didn't process what his friend had told him, subconsciously the meaning had made it through. It was just a matter of particulars now. Rufus tried again, only slightly more confident this time. Two words fulfilled the worst case scenario.

"Got Kim."

Suddenly, it became clear to Ron what exactly had changed in the house that had set off his subconscious warning sirens. The sound of running water was no longer present. This meant Kim was at the best in her room changing, at worst (and probably) out and about in the house. And now it was confirmed that Rufus had informed her of her least-favourite-person-in-the-world's presence in her home, skewed to even more violent proportions by Rufus' belief that Ron was in immediate danger. She might have been tweaked with him before, but a "Sidekick in Trouble" call was _always_ a recipe for one extremely dangerous red-head. But worse than that was how what had happened earlier in the night might do to Kim's decision making abilities. Her guilt for the injury of the soldier had been buried, but not nearly deeply enough, and seeing someone with a degree of responsibility in putting that man in said state easily could dig those feelings up again. There would be no questions of "What's going on?" if she wandered in on Shego. Add to that the fact that the villainess was in no state to fight, and things could not have been written up any worse.

"Oh damn..." was all Ron managed in the last moment of silence as he lunged out of the bathroom, just before a house-shaking racket erupted from the kitchen.

* * *

So, what did we think? If this chapter doesn't provoke responses I might as well give up now. As a side note, this is the last pre-written chapter I have. The next one will take a while longer. Sorry, but I just cant dedicate the time to this I used to. 


	7. Chapter 7

So, my muse hit me over the weekend and I was able to fire out about 4000 words in a few hours. Enough to completely screw me over for my calc II exam. It wasn't a choice, when I get like this there are no choices. Either I write or I don't sleep until I do. All but Drakken's side are brought together in this chapter. And we view a dilemma that will be developed as a major theme deeper into the story.

Enjoy, and as usual review.

Oh, and I don't own any of this beyond the plot.

* * *

Chapter 7: Unexpected Reactions 

"Mr. Load, it's been nearly 45 minutes." Dr. Director prompted to the young computer hacker as she watched him through their video-link. "I have an urgent need to speak to Miss Possible and Mr Stoppable, and I'm beginning to lose patience. Now, if I wasn't certain it was otherwise, I'd say you were stalling."

_You have no idea, Dr. Director. _Wade thought as he looked over the multitude of screens on his desk. _How long can I keep this up? Wait, better question, how long can _they_ keep this up? _

"Look, Dr. Director, I'm not sure what else to tell you. I've been beeping the Kimmunicator on 2 minute intervals since you woke me up, and they haven't picked up. I don't know what else you want me to do."

"Are you certain they aren't in any trouble?"

"Fairly." The boy genius nodded. "They are in the house and their vitals are all normal. I'm sure they are just asleep. You have to admit that tonight was very trying for them, and since your first message basically _ordered_them to rest, it's hardly unexpected that they would do exactly that."_Please leave it at that. _He thought. But Betty was not ready to give up quite yet.

"Kimberly has had late cases before, but your mission records show she has yet to have ignored a beep." She pointed out. "Where is the Kimmunicator exactly?"

"First floor, hallway. Looks like it's sitting on a side table." _Oh, why did I give them those records?_

"Doesn't that strike you as odd, Mr. Load? Doesn't Kimberly make a point of keeping it in her room?"

_'We can help so many more people if Global Justice knows what we're capable of.' _Wade silently repeated his own speech to Kim in a skewered version of his own voice. "Well, yes but..." Wade began to bite out another explanation, but he was cut off.

"Then you are suggesting that Miss Possible has decided to change her well established pattern just for tonight for no apparent reason?"

_Why, oh why? Stupid, Stupid, Stupid. _"She could have just gone to sleep in the living room. It's fairly close to where the Kimmunicator is right now." Really g_rasping at straws now, Wade._

"Wait, you mean you don't know where they are? I was under the impression you had them chipped." The director asked, genuinely surprised.

_Maybe there's hope yet. _

"I do. But after Zorpox tracked the Kimmunicator's signal, we realised that if I knew exactly where they were, so could one of our enemies. So we decided to only have the tracking signal accurate up to a 10 meter radius, just in case my security was ever breached. That way, even if someone hacked past my firewalls, they wouldn't be able to tell where Kim or Ron were in their lair with any accuracy. Unless, of course, their bio-signs go into the red, in which case their location was probably compromised anyway. It's a hard-wired program, I can't change it without recompiling my entire system."

"And what about your other on-site monitoring equipment?" Wade attempted to feign confusion, knowing that he was quickly being backed into a corner. Betty saw right through it. "Do not pretend you don't have both the Stoppable and Possible residence wired to the nine's, Wade."

"Dr. Director, that would be an invasion of their privacy! Why, the ethical implications of that..." _That's it... _Wade thought, as a predatory smile appeared on the brunette's face.

"Please give me more credit than that, Wade. This coming from someone who has forced access to everything from the dating patterns of Middleton High School to the Whitehouse's emergency command center? Those particular moral concerns have never entered into your calculations before, nor are they very likely to have conveniently decided to make a showing tonight." Wade slumped back, and Betty's smile disappeared as she began glaring at the young man. "Now, Mr. Load, I had my suspicions, but decided to trust you. I can see that that trust was misplaced. You have one more opportunity to tell me what is going on over there, or I will send an extraction team to find out for me. It's your choice."

"Aright, alright. Jeez..." Wade exclaimed, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Dr. Director, let me level with you. I wasn't being entirely truthful when I said their vitals were completely normal. They're elevated. Elevated as in I can't turn on the cameras. Can't as in for my age it's illegal for me to engage in viewership of the sort of... interactions... that these readouts seem to indicate. You know, heightened respiration and blood pressure, increased body temperature... Any of this sound familiar?" He shuddered, partially at his failure to deflect this embarrassing discovery, partially at the memory of the first and only time he had unwisely started snooping for Kim when she and Ron were ignoring him. Or, rather, were simply paying one another too much attention. _Once was one time too many. _

Dr. Director had not been expecting that kind of answer, and she was struck uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

"So... they have been... this entire time?"

"Possibly longer. I'm sorry, Dr. Director, but I just wanted to avoid..."

"I understand completely Mr. Load." Betty hastily affirmed. This had just become one of the most awkward conversations she had ever been involved in, and she preferred to avoid extending it any more than it had to be. "Continue buzzing them... contact us when you receive a response. Hopefully it won't be too much longer..."

"Thank you." Wade replied, somewhat relieved, but at the same time realising a new worry. "If we could keep this between us? I'm not sure Kim would be particularly happy with me if she found out I broadcasted her and Ron's vitals while they were... getting intimate."

"Don't worry, Mr Load. I have no desire whatsoever to discuss what happens behind closed doors with Miss Possible, especially when I was the one enforcing the peeping. This conversation never happened." Betty answered, nodding before she closed the feed. Sighing, Wade looked back to his alternate monitor hoping to see that the couple were tapering off. Instead, he was just in time to see Kim's vitals spike again, followed quickly by Ron's. He threw himself back in his chair, covering his eyes with his forearm in despair.

"Oh, for crying out loud!"

(-)(-)(-)

Kim consciously ran the shower till it was cold. Even with the remnants of sap and disgusting solvent in her hair, it would not have required all of the warm water to sufficiently wash it. But given that it was by Ron's request that she had become so rattled, it seemed appropriate that she disregard it completely.

_"Save me some warm water Kim." _She retorted out loud, lathering her hair for the 4th time. "How much more obvious can I be? He's more interested in food!" She knew that that wasn't exactly fair. With Ron, it was already a well established fact that his interest in Kim was rivalled by nothing. But sometimes the more simplistic did get away with him. Tonight was not a particularly noteworthy example of his cluelessness, but sometimes a girl just needed to vent.

Because of her own vocalized monologue and the background noise cause by the spray of water, she did not hear the frantic knocking and scratching at the bathroom door. A few minutes and another rinse and repeat cycle later, after the water became suitably frigid Kim shut off the overhead flow, stepped out of the shower and began to towel off. She continued to complain to herself as she put on her usual sleeping attire, and did not actually take notice of Rufus' pleas for attention until she opened the door and nearly stepped on him. A loud, angry squeak halted her mid-step, and even before she could look down to see what it was she had agitated, Rufus had scrambled up her leg and torso to her shoulder, leaving a trail of painful scratches along his track. Immediately, Kim knew something was very wrong, though she had no idea what it could be. Usually Rufus was quite gentle about navigating his larger friends' sensitive skin, his steps pleasantly tickling at the worst. Only when he was extremely stressed or frightened did Rufus dig his claws in. In fact, the only time Kim remembered him scratching her this badly was in the cafeteria when Ron was beginning to be influenced by Zorpox. The animal, now on her left shoulder, grabbed hold of Kim's ear, and began tittering at breakneck speed into it.

Kim was not Ron when it came to translating Rufus. On some occasions she could make out his general meaning, but even on the best of days it still sounded strung together and rushed for her hearing. At the pace Rufus was speaking now, it was nothing but completely senseless gibberish. She plucked him from his perch, and held him out in front of her at arm's length.

"What is it Rufus?" she asked, ignoring the small gouges that tearing him free from her ear had left behind. From where he stood now, Kim could look into his eyes, which tended to help her understand. What she saw did nothing to settle the initial worry his claw-work had inspired. Rufus was almost white with fear, but glared back at with anger.

"Hnk. Ron alone! Shego! In kitchen!" He blurted, before jumping from her palm and taking off down the stairs on his own. Kim stood for a moment, staring at her hand with a look of horror blooming on her face. Then, she streaked to the staircase, vaulted down in three steps, and raced into the kitchen.

(-) (-) (-)

The smile that had grown on Shego's face just before Ron had gone off to the washroom did not fade as she heard the fleet footsteps in the hall approach the kitchen. The worry Ron had shown, and continued to show for her judging from how quickly he was moving, was heart warming, and funny to the villainess. Part of her was surprised at how well he was adapting to this very pronounced change in their 'relationship,' but another was not in the slightest. It actually felt natural. Now that she thought about it, she had always known this is how things would go for anyone requesting help of Ron. He would trip all over himself to make them comfortable, particularly if they were if the feminine variety. It was almost... cute.

_Did you just think that? _Desire asked incredulously. _Did you just think Stoppable was cute?! What's the matter with you?! This isn't cute, it's pitiful. Do you realise how easily you could take him out right now? He wouldn't even see it coming! _

She continued, but Shego paid no attention. It didn't matter. He needn't even be doing what he was right now. The glow powers granted her fantastic healing

capabilities, and soon enough the cuts on her fingers would heal without so much as a hint of a scar. But that wasn't the point. Someone was doing something for her completely out of kindness, and that was a rarity for her. Charity had never really appealed to her, she had always been able to get anything she wanted. But you can't steal solace. That had to be given, and given willingly.

The smile did fade, however, when a redhead flew through the kitchen archway rather than a blonde. A redhead who looked a few pills past the daily recommended dosage. Kim's wide-eyed glare found Shego almost immediately, and without a word she advanced on the dark-haired intruder. Shego had to scramble to be on her feet by the time Kim reached her, and when the younger girl did, she found her back pressed into the table, staring into Kim's white-hot eyes with less than an inch separating their noses.

"Where's Ron?" Kimberly demanded, speaking in a tone that Shego had never imagined could come from the heroine. It carried so much animosity and rage that Shego had to catch herself gasping at it. More than even being in her house should have brought forth. It actually frightened her.

"Whoa Princess." Shego hastily replied, trying to diffuse the ticking teenaged time-bomb that literally had her pressed into a corner. "I think you have the wrong idea here..." She began, but Kim cut her off by grabbing hold of one of her wrists and flipping her head over heels into the kitchen floor.

"Don't try and play me Shego." She growled over the villainess, who began pushing herself along the floor towards the door. "What have you done with Ron?"

"I haven't done anything to him Possible. I didn't come here to cause trouble."

"Ha. And Monkey Fist is only in it to protect wildlife. What kind of idiot do you take me for?"

_How much time you got, Kimmie? This could take a while. _Shego thought, but wisely kept it to herself. Kim was bad enough for her health on the best of days, and somehow Shego thought that this simmering ball of anger would not be any more forgiving.

"Look, Possible, maybe if you take five, Ron will come back and explain everything. Or better yet, go two doors down the hallway and find him yourself. I promise he's fine."

"Yea, leaving you to slink away till next time. I don't think so, Shego." Kim facetiously completed the villainess' line of thought. Shego shook her head, half in frustration, half in an attempt to convince Kimberly she was wrong. Kim crossed her arms, and grinned slightly. "Alright, Shego, I'll bite. If not for some below the belt revenge for Drakken, why you are here?"

The mention of Drakken snuffed out Shego's own growing anger at Kim's stubborn behaviour. She dropped herself out of the modified crab walk she was using to try and put some distance between herself and Possible, and stared blankly at the ceiling.

"Drakken's dead, Princess." She said flatly. It was disturbing how easy it was becoming to say that already. Damn Stoppable and his forgiveness.

This statement stopped the redhead's menacing pursuit of the grounded Shego, and she glanced back at the table where the green woman had been sitting. Leaving Shego on the ground, she walked over to it, and picked up the black lab gauntlet which had been left there. She examined it for a moment, before turning back to Shego.

"Well, it's about time."

"What?!" Shego hissed, feeling her anger spiking suddenly.

"I said, it's about time! Finally, someone other than an innocent bystander gets hurt because of him." Kim replied a-matter-of-factly, recalling the soldier from just hours earlier. She tossed the gauntlet absent-mindedly back on the table before strolling back to Shego. "What happened? His latest death-ray blow up in his face?" She asked, with a touch of humour in her voice. "That was record time."

Shego was glowering by now, forcing her reply out from behind clenched teeth. Just like the VNN news caster, Kim was repeating elements of her earlier, and deeply regretted yell-down of Dr. Drakken. It was remarkable just how quickly that guilt could be transformed into anger.

"Afraid not, Kimmie. It was me."

Kim actually seemed taken aback by this, but she didn't take long to recompose.

"Well. I suppose I should be thanking you then, Shego. You've done the world a huge favour."

Kim's last statement broke Shego's wavering self-control into a billion small pieces. Her body forgot how tired and bruised it was, and almost faster than her mind could process the movement, Shego back-sprung to her feet and ignited her palms.

"Alright, Princess, now you are going to regret being born."

(-) (-) (-)

Wade had almost turned off his computer for the first time he could remember by the time his warning sirens went off. It looked as if the elevated life-signs were going to continue long into the next morning, and despite the fact he could not actually see anything that was going on, his imagination filled in the blank monitors no matter how much he tried to block it out. But then, a specialized energy sensor he had placed in the Possible residence detected a specific band of EM radiation that emanated from only one known source. And at the instant Shego powered up the green glow power inside Kim's house, it set that sensor into a frenzy. It automatically activated the house's entire visual security net, and when Wade got a look at what was going on in the Possible kitchen, his fingers nearly tore themselves out of their knuckles against the keyboard as he called Global Justice. Betty once again appeared on the screen with a tall man in a lab coat, who looked suspiciously similar to the file photos he had of Mr. Barkin. She smiled slightly.

"Ah, I take it Miss Possible has finally respon..." She started to say, but Wade interrupted quickly.

"Shego is in there with them, Dr. Director. Is that extraction team still ready?"

The director's genial smile immediately disappeared. She turned to an aide off screen and barked a string of orders the microphone did not pick up.

"They will be there in 90 seconds, Mr. Load. Can you link us into your data-feed over here?"

"I'm on it." Wade replied, furiously inputting the required lines of code.

_Hang on guys, the cavalry's on the way._

(-) (-) (-)

Ron made it to the door just as Kim uttered the words that had taken Shego from zero to 60. And what Kim had said shocked and appalled him. It just wasn't her talking, it couldn't be. Exactly as he had worried, the evenings events were still effecting his best friend in the worst possible way, making her say things that on any other day would have disgusted her just as much as it did him.

When the two women engaged, it did not take long for Ron to realise that if someone didn't stop them, Drakken wouldn't be the only one to pass on tonight. The punches were faster, the kicks sharper, and the eyes deadlier than Ron had ever seen, including the time the Moodulator's had placed both into an uncontrollable fit of pure rage. The strikes being landed snapped their targets away so suddenly that the rest of the body didn't have a chance to follow along, the resulting stances resisting the usual airborne follow-throughs. Ron doubted that they even had time to feel the pain each blow inflicted before they retaliated. This meant one thing. Either one could kill the other before they even realised what had happened. And he was the only one who could stop it.

It was insane, Ron fully admitted it. But just letting them continue was just as insane. He certainly couldn't risk Kim dying, and at the same time even if she didn't it would be even worse. If being indirectly related for someone's near death had done this to her, Ron could not imagine what murder would do. And then there was Shego. She had come seeking help, and now was engaged in a fight for her life. Ron could no more let her kill or be killed than he could Kim. That left one option.

Before it was too late, Ron sprinted across the room and threw himself in between the two duelling martial artists. He had prepared to have every one of his ribs shattered the moment he made his move, but as soon as he entered the zone of death being created between Shego and Kim, he realised he had become engulfed in the ethereal blue glow of the mystical monkey power.

_Nice of you to show up. _Ron thought as the howling of monkeys began to fill his head. For once, it was welcome. The power guided his limbs as he had been taught at Yaminouchi, and instantly he was blocking both Kim and Shego's blows away from his body, and more importantly, one another's.

Somehow, either by the pure speed Ron's body was ducking and spinning in its frantic role as a double-sided shield, or simply by the fact that both Kim and Shego were too occupied trying to overcome one another, the two girls did not notice that they were no longer striking one another and continued pressing the attack.

Even tapping into the mystical monkey power, Ron was limited by human endurance. And he was by no means a master of the Tai Shing Pek Kwar and its associated mythical power. The furious pace he moved at quickly drained his reserves of strength, and soon he began to slow. He was still no more than a glowing blur to both of the combatant females, but the loss in pace was enough to make the flaws in his technique show. And he paid for it. The strikes each woman had intended for the other began to rain down on the blonde, doubling the drain on his energy and focus.

After only a few seconds of the assault on his body, a fist made contact with his chin. It struck like a bullet, knocking Ron unconscious almost instantly. As his vision closed, the fear that he could no longer protect Kim and Shego from one another reached directly into the heart of the supernatural forces residing within him, and in a blinding flash the blue field that surrounded the blonde expanded into a crackling sphere of raw energy, picking both of the women off of the ground and throwing them to opposite sides of the room. It shattered the kitchen's windows and knocked the doors off the cupboards, spilling the plates and glasses contained within onto the floor. Rufus, who was left standing at the door just seconds ago, was pitched into the living room despite his own activated mystical monkey powers, being forced between the cushions of the couch. Then the field winked out, leaving a smoking Ron Stoppable lying passed out on the floor.

(-) (-) (-)

Between the Global Justice control room and Wade's basement, the nail-biting was already dangerously close to involving fingertips before the mystical monkey power blew out all of the electronic devices in the house. Betty grabbed ahold of the desk in front of her as the screen flashed and went snowy.

"What just happened, Mr. Load?" She asked intensely, looking towards the camera that fed to his screen. Over the still active link between his computer and GJ, Wade was already feverishly running diagnostics.

"I... I don't know, Dr. Director! It's like everything in the house just went dead. I'm not even detecting their tracking chips anymore." Mason, the man in the lab coat Wade had noticed, was standing over one of the computer techs monitoring the location via satellite. He had come up to the command floor with the request forms he had promised to have completed the next morning, and got caught up in the action, his military training re-asserting itself. Everyone in the room was wired up now, and Wade heard what he was discussing.

"Anything on your screens, Andrews?"

"Everything was residential standard up until we lost the feed. Then I detected a momentary spike in meta-energy across the elctro-magnetic spectrum from long wave radio to the early fringe of infrared. It only lasted a split second, but it was incredibly intense." The scientist looked up at Dr. Director.

"That flash?" he suggested.

Betty turned to another man at the central control desk.

"Juan, rewind the visuals to before the loss of contact."

"And synchronize with the satellite EM reports." Mason added, who had left Andrews side and was examining a long page of graphs that was printing out from the tech's station.

_I might have to review Mason's employment record. _Dr. Director thought idly as Juan complied with their dual orders. _He has the room presence for a command position. He might be of more use up here than down in R&D. _Considerations for later, she decided, as the South Korean computer technician signalled that he was ready. Betty nodded, and he began the playback. The image of Possible and Shego fighting filled the bottom of the screen, and a digital graph of the energy readings being produced inside the house played along the top. Sure enough, the flash of light coincided exactly with the bounce in meta-energy the spy satellite had detected.

"Where did that come from?" Betty asked the air.

"Hold on." Mason called from over the graph paper. He tore it from the printer and joined Betty at Juan's station. "Go back to 36 seconds before we lost the feed, and play at one half speed."

The tech re-ran the beginning of the video image, but nothing different appeared.

"Try one quarter speed."

"A hunch, Arnold?" Betty asked.

"A possibility."

Now while the recording ran, a faint blue streak appeared on the screen, starting from off camera and making a direct line to the two combatant females.

"There it is!" Mason exclaimed. "Pause, and go one eighth speed."

On the last playback, a blue figure was clearly defined in the recording running across the kitchen and placing itself between Kim and Shego.

"Mr. Load, do you have a camera pointing at where that came from?" Arnold asked the young boy.

"Yea, just a second." Wade replied.

"How did you know?" Betty asked Mason as Wade went to work, somewhat dumbstruck.

"The meta-energy spiked at the moment of the flash, but it was present exactly 36 seconds before the jump at much lower levels. It was hidden in background elecro-magnetic noise at first, but when I had a closer look an energy pattern identical to that of the surge jumped out at me."

Before they could discuss any more the Global Justice agents heard Wade gasp over the com-link, and they all swung their heads back towards the screen he occupied.

"What is it Mr. Load?"

"It... it doesn't make any sense..." Wade mumbled.

"What did you find, Wade?"

"I... here, it's on the other camera angle." The young hacker said, before typing in a series of commands and sending the kitchen's alternate monitoring data. What it showed was a certain unassuming blonde boy suddenly become wreathed in a blue aurora, and jet out of view in less than the tick of a stopwatch. Dr. Director put a hand to her mouth in shock, but Mason grinned widely.

"Looks like the 'Ron-Factor' research program might have been closed a wee bit prematurely." he laughed. Betty nodded slightly, standing erect again and smoothing her uniform. Again, something to worry about later. The strike team would be in position by now. She gestured for Arnold to follow her as she made her way to the central command consol. She keyed the secondary line.

"Agent Du, report."

"On site. Target position is in sight. No activity visible. The building looks dead, there isn't a single light on, inside or out." Wil Du replied, in his usual curt, semi-arrogant tone. Betty could tell he was annoyed at being assigned to the retrieval duty. He made no secret of the fact he considered himself above things involving the 'amateur' Possible and Stoppable, which was the reason she kept on giving him the liaison duties. Kim and Ron could one day make irreplaceable agents, and Wil needed to get used to working with them.

"Be on alert, Wil. It looks like an energy spike disabled anything electronic in the house. That could include the lights too."

"What sort of energy spike?" He asked suspiciously

"We... aren't exactly sure." Betty answered tactically. Mention the fact that Stoppable had probably caused it and Wil was more likely to drop his guard than raise it.

"Understood." The young agent replied. "Moving in."

Everyone on the command level remained silent as they watched the dots representing Du's team progressed towards the house on the tactical display. At about a meter distant, Wil halted the team.

"Director, we're just outside the building now. There is shattered plate glass everywhere. It looks like the windows were all blown out by some kind of explosion."

"Is there any other signs of blast damage?" Asked the brunette.

"None that I can see from here." Agent Du replied, his voice becoming less haughty.

"Proceed to the door on the far left of the building. It leads into the kitchen."

The dots motion returned, and in a line they travelled along the outside of the layout of the house, rounded the corner and entered the kitchen. Wil's voice returned.

"The door has been ripped out of its frame as well. Entering the structure now."

(-) (-) (-)

Wil leaned against the exterior wall as he edged up on the mangled doorframe. He had to admit, he had thought this was going to be another baby-sitting job, made even more miserable by the rain, until he saw the broken glass strewn across the lawn in all directions from the house. At that moment he flushed out his lingering complaints and looked at the extraction in a more serious light.

He made several practiced hand motions to the small team that trailed him, silently indicating that they were to follow him in and spread out in defensive position. When his second in line nodded in understanding, Wil snapped the pair of night-vision goggles over his eyes, shouldered his stun rifle, and padded into the building.

The kitchen looked like a war zone, broken glass and ceramic littering the floor alongside splintered cupboard doors and overturned chairs. Checking the ceiling, Wil confirmed that the lighting fixture had been broken just as the windows had, leaving the room in darkness. He caught sight of a pair of legs dressed in green and black spandex hanging over the upturned kitchen table, and motioned to one of the other squad members to take a closer look. He, in turn, panned his gaze to the other side of the kitchen and saw the lithe form of Kimberly Anne Possible slumped up against the fridge, which was dented in as if she had been thrown against it in a rather violent fashion. He began to move over towards her to check for a pulse, but stopped as his foot bumped into a large mass on the floor. Flicking his gun down quickly, Wil found himself standing over the unconscious Ron Stoppable. In looking to the ground, however, Wil noticed something else. Peculiarly, none of the debris seemed to approach Stoppable. He was surrounded by a perfect circle where the floor was free of any wreckage. Having a look around the room, Wil realised that Stoppable was lying directly in-between the two women, who had been flung through the air in opposite directions until they had been stopped by a heavy, immobile object. The evidence was strange but nearly irrefutable. Ron had been the epicenter of the explosion.

This left Wil with two questions. One, how had Stoppable done this? That was a simple enough query. Anything that blasted most of a room apart had to be at least slightly interesting. Two, why had he done this, at least in the sense of how he had directed this as yet unexplained force? It looked as if Possible, who, unless Wil was terribly mistaken, was his best friend and partner for nearly two decades, had been hit just as hard as who he had to assume was Shego by whatever Stoppable had done. Lying between the two women could entail several things, but Wil got the distinct impression Stoppable was protecting them from one another rather than merely defending his girlfriend from her usual rival.

Again gesturing to another agent to check on Kim, Wil dropped to his knee beside the blonde and placed a pair of fingers against his neck. The pulse was there, but it was erratic. The dark haired agent glanced at the man who was kneeling by Kimberly, who gave him a thumbs up indicating that she was alright. Likewise, the agent who had checked on Shego confirmed that she was also still alive. Signalling the last three men in his squad, Wil sent them to search the rest of the Possible residence. After a few short minutes, they returned, one carrying a KO'd Rufus, shaking their heads to convey that the house was otherwise empty.

Standing up again, Du removed his night vision goggles and pulled the mouthpiece of the microphone back towards his mouth.

"Building is secure. Three casualties located. Possible and Shego are stable, but Stoppable's vitals are weak. All three seem to have been knocked unconscious by whatever it was that damaged the house."

"I want all three brought back to headquarters ASAP." Betty replied.

"Very well, Director." Wil said, returning to hand gestures to his squad, dividing them into pairs to move the limp bodies of the hero's and villainess out of the house. To the set carrying Shego, he tapped his wrist to indicate they should cuff her before continuing. Hoisting Ron along with the agent who had retrieved the naked mole rat, Wil anchored the precession exiting the house. Once they reached the turbo-tube, where one man could effectively stabilised the body they carried, Wil spit the squad, leaving half of them behind to wait for the elder Possibles to return. He packed into the already tight confines of the tube's pod with Stoppable, and as the machine was set in motion, at an intentionally lower speed, he quietly asked the almost lifeless blonde.

"What exactly have you gotten yourself into this time, Stoppable?"

* * *

So Ron shows off a little bit of MMP. It's not going to be a major factor in the story, more of a peek at how much Ron innately could care about Shego's well being. And how Kim could or could not suffer due to this plutonic concern. Evil, no? 

So, random question that has nothing to do to the story at hand, but what sort of domestic car do you think Shego would drive? As in, Corvette, GT 42, or Viper? Or others. This is for a unrelated oneshot, something of an unimportant dilemma but I'd like your input.

And, to the unidentifed reviewer, if you can, send me a PM with your guess. I'll mention if you are right or wrong on the next posting. I'm interested if my readership is getting wise. lol


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Sans plot, I am the owner of exactly none of the material here.

Good god, I'm sorry it took so long for me to post this chapter. First a month of studying for exams, then a combination of my usual muse getting hijacked by another story and major writers block is to blame. Hopefully none of my regulars (i think i might be getting ahead of myself) think I've died or anything.

I promise I'll be more consistent now that I'm out of classes and have got my inspiration back.

As per usual, please review.

* * *

Chapter 8: The Final Stage of Grief

Kim regained consciousness in a mutely lit recovery ward, just as a nurse was checking her chart. She tried to crank her neck up, but found it felt far too much like a dried tree branch for her to be comfortable flexing it. Everything was stiff, and her head throbbed like a freight train was running between her ears at 90 miles an hour.

"Don't try to move too quickly, honey." The nurse said kindly, pressing the incline function on the bed's control panel. With a soft whirring, the beds actuators brought Kim to a sitting position as the nurse passed her a glass of water. "You have a mild concussion, a boat load of strains, and about a half dozen or so small hairline fractures. How does your head feel?"

"Like someone closed a car door on it." Kim answered after she had taken a sip of the water and moistened her dry palette. "Where am I?"

"Global Justice Medical Ward. You came in about two hours ago with a blonde boy and a woman with green skin. It looked like all three of you had been put through a cement mixer along with a shovel full of gravel."

"Ron... Ron!" Kim exclaimed, remembering what had gone on before she had been knocked out, and forgot herself. She thrust her head upwards, and immediately regretted it as pain lanced up her spine and exploded in her head at the same time. She fell back almost as quickly as she got up, her vision blurring, and she dropped the glass of water. It broke into pieces on the tile floor below, the shriek of fragmenting glass sounding twice as bad through her ultra sensitive ears.

"Whoops." The nurse called out, swiftly bending down and picking up the large pieces of the glass. Kim, who had her eyes scrunched up as she tried to block out as much of the sensory input that was overwhelming her brain as she could, apologised.

"I'm sorry. Normally I'm not that clumsy."

"Don't worry about it, dear. Happens all the time. Maybe one day we will figure it out and start using plastic cups." The older woman joked as she wiped up the spilt water and smaller shards of glass with a towel. She left Kim for a moment to dispose of the fragments, and when she returned, the redhead had managed to open her eyes again.

"Where's Ron? Is he alright?" she asked as the nurse began checking her pupils with a pen light.

"He was taken to a more intensive observation ward. From what I could see he wasn't as badly beaten up as you or the other girl, but he sure looked drained. Apparently he's the worse off of the three of you."

"Oh no..." Kim moaned.

"Don't worry, hun. He's out of danger. He'll just need a little more time to recover, that's all." The nurse assured her.

"Can I see him?" Kim inquired, this question holding a distinct note of pleading.

"I'm sure you can, but Dr Director left me with orders to tell her when you woke up first. She should be down here any minute now."

As usual, almost as if the words summoned her, Betty appeared just as the nurse mentioned she was on her way. Striding purposefully into the room, the brunette made a b-line for the stretcher Kim lay on. She came to rest at the edge of the bed, and offered the red head her hand. Kim took it and shook weakly, and Betty assumed a more casual stance.

"Welcome back, Miss Possible. I dare say you had us worried for a few hours."

"What happened?"

"I think I would be in a better position to answer that if you were to explain what Shego was doing in your house first."

At the mention of Shego's name, Kim bristled visibly.

"She came to get back at us for Drakken."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Why else would she come to my house? Don't tell me she told you that bit about Drakken being dead. It is so a lie."

"Actually, I haven't spoken to Shego yet. She woke only a few minutes ago, I was just on my way to question her when Miss Calenn paged me. I decided I would like the story from someone trust-worthy first, so I can have something to compare against. She claimed she was there because Drakken had died?" Kim nodded. "Hopefully she comes up with something more creative when I speak to her, then."

"Huh?"

"Well, I haven't heard of the infamous doctor passing, and GJ has enough contacts in the criminal underworld to hear about something that big. We even have a few of his hideouts under 24 hour watch. It's more than fair to assume she was lying."

"I knew it. She was just there to settle a score. What did she do to Ron?"

"What do you mean, Kimberly?"

"Umm... well, the nurse, Miss Calenn, said Ron was had the worst injuries of all of us... and when I found Shego, she had been alone with Ron for almost an hour... I thought she had done something to him while I wasn't there."

"I'm not sure it's that simple, Miss Possible."

"I... don't understand..."

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"Well, I ran downstairs after Rufus told me Shego was in the kitchen with Ron. She was there, but Ron wasn't, so I tried to find out what she had done to him. I thought she might have hurt him. We yelled, and fought for a little while, then it all sort of goes black. I think I remember a blue flash and flying through the air, but I'm not sure... that doesn't make much sense..."

"Actually, that mostly agrees with what we saw on Mr Load's recording equipment and what was in Agent Du's post-action report, Kimberly. But, you were wrong about Shego hurting Ron."

"What? Then... what happened in that hour I wasn't with him? And if it wasn't Shego, why is he in intensive care?"

"From what we saw on the surveillance cameras, Ron was fine at the time you and Shego were engaged. Good enough, at least, to knock both of you out before someone was fatally hurt. We are as in the dark about what happened over the that hour as you are, however... Wade was... hesitant... to start his visual monitoring net until it became apparent something was wrong. As for why he is injured, we will have to ask him once he wakes up... we lost the video feed at the same time you were knocked unconscious." Betty paused, allowing the young heroine to take what she had said in, before continuing. "I have something of a strange question for you regarding that flash you noticed, though. Have you, on any of your missions when the situation is particularly dire, or other moments of extreme stress, ever noticed a... glowing aurora... around Ron? Even just for a split second? Or has it ever seemed that he was able to cross a distance faster than should be possible?"

"No..." Kim replied, not making the connection, "Why?"

"It won't make sense until I can show you the recording, and unfortunately I don't have a copy with me at the moment. In the mean time..." Dr Director stopped mid-sentence and turned to Miss Calenn. "Would it be alright if I had your patient come along with me to the questioning?"

"Well, personally I would rather she not be needlessly agitated. Having said that, I imagine keeping her bed-ridden would not help matters in that regard. If you're asking if medically she can handle a walk and a spirited conversation, I'd have to say yes. As long as the only thing flying between her and the prisoner are words."

"Of course, ma'am. Well, Miss Possible, do you feel up to coming along? I understand you are worried about Ron, but I assure you he is receiving the best care available, and I would appreciate having you there to confirm or deny any aspects of Shego's answers."

Once again, Kim nodded. She gingerly swung her legs out from under the sheets, and got to her feet. The nurse brought forth a pair of slippers and a robe, along with some pills.

"Just some light pain-killers to make life a little easier, dear."

Kim took them gratefully, and re-assured the kindly woman as she put on the extra articles of clothing. "Don't worry, Miss Calenn. If Shego feels anywhere near as bad as I do, there won't be any trouble."

(o) (O) (o)

Ron saw black. It wasn't a cold, impenetrable darkness though, more like the comfortable, quiet variety found in a theatre before the film began. In fact, Ron thought he might actually be at the movies. But, unlike that venue, that was all there was. For the longest time Ron waited for something to replace the void, hoping that Kim hadn't dragged him to another sappy chick flick and maybe he was about to see the new action extravaganza staring Pain King in his first non-wresting role. However, whenever he wondered about Kim, something told him she wasn't with him at the moment. But if not her, then who was he with? Felix maybe? No, that wasn't it either. Was Yori State-side? Definitely not. Who else was there, then? It wasn't Monique, or Tara, or Brick. Or Bonnie, but that wasn't really a surprise. Ron went through the short list of people he might find himself going out with, but none of the names seemed to fit. Now, that didn't make any sense at all. Why would he go to a show all by himself? The Ron-Man might have been something of a loner, but it wasn't that bad. He was about to ask Rufus when he realised that he too was not there. Now, that was impossible. Rufus would never forgive him if he had left him behind with all the delicious treats found in a cinema snack-stand.

The situation changing from just a sad statement about his social life to something that was almost completely unexplainable, Ron started searching for other holes. How did he get here? He didn't remember entering the theatre, nor did he remember getting there. In fact, he couldn't remember much of anything. It was all sort of a blur. Did he know what time it was? Something told him it was very late, or very, very early. For sure not during regular showing hours. And again, if he was at a theatre, where was the damn movie? Nothing pervaded his vision, not even the incessant advertisements that played on loop before the previews. He wasn't even sure he was sitting in a chair. His mind seemed to think so, but what felt like his body kept telling him it was more likely he was lying down. However, it was also saying that his eyes were closed, but he was sure they weren't. He wanted to get up, but had a hard time deciding if he should just stand or lean up into a sitting position first.

Ron was beginning to get frustrated. Even his brain and the rest of his anatomy couldn't agree on what was going on. Maybe if he just asked? The blonde didn't have any better ideas, so he breathed in and opened his mouth. But, an eruption of pain along his lower jaw stopped him from getting too far.

_Oh wow, who hit me with the shovel? _He thought as he instinctively placed his mouth back into a neutral position. That question, however, caught in his head, and immediately revised itself.

_Was it Kim or Shego?_

Then it all flooded back. Finding Shego on the doorstep, talking to the villainess without having anything broken, going to get bandages, finding out Rufus had told Kim he was in trouble, Kim telling Shego that Drakken was better off dead, throwing himself in between the sparring girls, receiving the iron-fisted punch straight to the mouth, and passing out without stopping Kim and Shego from hurting one another. The worry, no, terror he had felt at that thought returned, thrust him upward, and ripped his eyes open. He was met with a searingly bright blue light, and for a moment he thought he had reactivated the mystical monkey power. But once his eyes adjusted, he realised he was sitting in a hospital bed, the light provided by sterile surgical lamps.

Other than his jaw, Ron's body felt surprisingly unscathed. But, where he lacked pain the feeling that he had not slept in days made up for it. He had never felt so tired in his life, and between Kim's hobby and his game-adge, it wasn't as if all-nighters were an uncommon occurrence.

Ron looked around anxiously for either Kim or Shego, but found the room to have only one other occupant other than himself, and that person was a heavily bandaged male, asleep in an adjourning bed. Though gauze obscured a significant portion of his face, Ron recognised him as the soldier they had run into earlier that night.

The room's walls were bleach white, only offset by the mirror sheen of the stainless steel furnishings, and a wall of ceiling-to-floor windows. Outside that barrier was another room, which looked to be occupied by only a single, dark haired person, who was bent over a computer terminal.

Not nearly content to sit without knowing if his girlfriend and someone who's relationship with him had yet to be clearly defined but was nevertheless frighteningly strong were alright, Ron pulled himself out of the bed. He had to strip a full set of EKG monitoring probes from his chest, and withdraw an IV line to get moving, and as soon as he did, warnings that he had flat-lined began to tone. This seemed to similarly activate a siren in the adjourning chamber, and before his feet had touched the ground, Wil Du marched in, looking his usual over-starched, highly irritable self. Although... there was something slightly different in the way the older agent looked at him from over his upturned nose. Was it interest? A small measure of respect? Ron couldn't place it.

"And on the third day, he rose again." He said once he reached the middle of the room, crossing his arms and examining the blonde where he stood.

This time, Ron was prepared for the pain in his jaw, and managed to push the hot needles stabbing into his gums to the back of his mind.

"Where are Shego and Kim?"

"Interesting that you would phrase it like that. Why not Kim and Shego? Why Shego at all, for that matter."

"What are you talking about?"

A twist came to the agent's his lip, something that was vintage Du. He had something to say, and in his opinion, everyone in the room (namely Ron) would be far better people having heard it. "You know, Stoppable, I don't particularly like you."

_So much for respect._

"You take nothing seriously, shrug off responsibilities, have no respect for authority, commit only minimum effort to anything you do... But, you have always struck me as loyal. Almost to the point where it becomes yet another fault. You have been more or less above criminal behaviour, at least when in your right mind. And in your relationship with Possible, hopeless childishness aside, you seem to have always put her first, treated her well enough to be considered a true friend. So, I am confused, and disappointed, to see you betraying all those things for someone as opportunistic and treacherous as Shego."

"Umm... lost you somewhere Willy... Betraying Kim? I think your collar might be cutting off the circulation to your brain."

"Granted, betrayal may be too strong a word." Wil amended with a slight nod. "But, if I were to ask you how many times you have... done whatever it was that you did... for Kim when she was in danger, how would you answer?"

"Whatever it was that I did?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Stoppable. You turned the kitchen into kindling with that blue-streak trick of yours, and put Shego, as well as Possible, in hospital. As you are well aware, those women are two exceedingly hard eggs to crack, but you about did them in in under 10 seconds. I'm just wondering why we've never seen this before. Why, in all the times that you and Possible have been captured, held literally an inch from death with the world hanging in the balance, you've never decided it was time to start glowing and take care of business."

_Start glowing? _Ron thought feeling himself sweating slightly, even as his concern for the two women was partially put to rest. _They saw the MMP in action? Not good, Ron-Man, not good..._

The mystical monkey power was on its own hard enough to explain; when you add the promise of secrecy he had given Master Sensei about the Yaminouchi school, which was really impossible to avoid in any serious attempt to clarify just what the MMP was, this revelation would be unbelievably difficult to elucidate, and it's discovery would have serious ramifications. And that was assuming he could explain what had happened. The mystical monkey power had emphasis on mystical, and what Wil had described was beyond anything he had ever experienced or learned about while in training in Japan. It didn't help matters that he didn't even remember what had transpired after being knocked out.

"I'm waiting, Stoppable."

"Look, Agent Du, I can't really explain..."

"I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice. You can come clean now, or I can have you arrested and we can try again in an interrogation room."

"Arrested?!"

"Absolutely. You and your girlfriend are so eager to play agents, you should have the same responsibilities. And one of those is doing everything in your power to protect international security and the civilian population of the world. Who knows how much unnecessary damage and suffering has been a result of you keeping this to yourself? That's dereliction of duty and negligence. And then there's the matter of interfering in the apprehension of wanted criminal, _after_ failing to turn her in."

Ron gaped at Wil, horrified at what the agent was suggesting. Du's expression didn't betray any indication of humour, even the twisted variety that making such claims would require; indeed, the black haired man seemed completely serious about formally charging him. Ron didn't know whether or not this was an official stance, nor was he knowledgeable enough about law to tell if those allegations would be supportable in court or not, though something in the back of his head told him that silence was his best option, at least for now. If Dr Director made the same demands, then he would have to seriously consider his choices, but until he met with her, Ron decided to follow that prodding. Du seemed to catch on, and smirked.

"Pleading the 5th, huh?" the agent snorted. "Cute, Stoppable. We'll see how long that lasts..." Before Wil could complete his threat, a third voice rang out from the other side of the room, snapping up the attention of both men.

"Could you turn that damn noise of, Sarge? Some of us are trying to sleep." Croaked the bandaged time-portal soldier, rolling over in the bed to face the source of the noise, Ron's still beeping life-monitor. Once he had a moment to look around, he looked directly at Wil and Ron, his face oscillated between confusion, distaste, distrust and fear.

"Aren't you two a little young to be working for the ICC?" he asked after a moment.

"ICC?" Ron replied, not recognizing the acronym, glancing to his side at Wil. The agent paid no heed to the blonde however, having brought a comm. device from his belt to his ear. Before the soldier could reply to Ron's monogrammatical ponderance, a team of doctors rushed into from the hall, gathering around the man, effectively cutting him off from the rest of the room. He looked back at Wil, who was now treading stiffly into the antechamber. The blonde followed, catching Du as he contacted Betty on the terminal he had been sitting at before.

"Dr Director, this is Agent Du. William Doe has woken up. The neurologist and his team are looking after him now."

"_Good work, Du. After the doctor's clear him, Captain Mason will begin the debriefing. What about Mr Stoppable?"_

"I'm right here, Dr Director." Ron spoke, raising his hand slightly stepping up so he was in the camera's field of view. He wasn't sure if his suspicious were founded, but he wanted to make sure that Wil didn't conveniently forget that he had too regained consciousness. The brunette smiled slightly in seeing him.

"_It's good to see you up and about, Ronald. Our doctors weren't able to make much of a diagnosis on you when you came in, so you should count yourself lucky you're body was able to resolve its issues on its own. I'm sure you have quite an explanation for just what it was that you did, but that can wait. Agent Du, please get Mr Stoppable some proper clothing, and meet me in Questioning Room B9-117. Dr Director out."_

Du twisted his head after his commander signed off, as if he was physically struck. Whatever attempts at applying leverage against the blonde were ruined by Betty's cordiality towards the young man.

Without so much as a fleeting glance, the older man stood, walked to a wall-mounted cupboard and withdrew a pair of cover-alls. He wrapped them around a pair of slip-on flats, and abruptly tossed them to Ron, who was at the moment trying to beat down a fierce blush that had appeared at the realisation he had been talking to the Global Justice matriarch in nothing but his Fearless Ferret boxers. Wil barely spared the blonde the time to put the jumpsuit before exiting the room, leaving Ron to hop after him as he put on the shoes.

"What was he talking about? I've never heard of the ICC." Ron asked once he had caught up to his guide.

"I wouldn't expect you to, Stoppable. It stands for International Chamber of Commerce. Don't pay too much attention to that though, it's just nonsense."

"What makes you say that?"

"The ICC is an economic board; not a thing to do with the military."

(o) (O) (o)

Just as it had made Ron's kind gesture physically trivial, Shego's glow power had ensured even a Class 3 concussion couldn't keep her down for much more than one hour. When Ron had thrown up the MMP energy field, the villainess had be thrown into the Possible's booth table, her legs catching on the top and whipping her head into the far edge, where it struck right in the cleft where the spine meets the brain. Because of the mechanics of this, while she had been thrown at the same speed as Kim had been, her concussion was much more serious, and had she been a regular human being, she wouldn't be awake so soon, nor would she be this lucid for many days after.

When she woke, the green woman's memories of when, what, and the most likely where regarding her situation were almost completely intact, and therefore she remained still, maintained her breathing pattern, and warily explored her surroundings, cracking one eye ever so slightly and gently tugging her extremities. She wasn't certain of the how she got into this position at the moment, but she trusted that that would reveal itself in time.

Her accommodations were similar to both of the hero's, less the fact that she was under armed guard, and shackled, her hands bound inside a device that looked like a combination of hand cuffs and a pair of fish bowls. Her palms were each sealed within a separate globe made of some transparent polymer, clamped around her wrists by padded, but solid looking clasps. It took only a second to confirm that the apparatus completely suppressed the more visual aspects of her powers, which both impressed and angered the villainess. Up until now GJ had depended almost exclusively on extremely thick, heat resistant walls to keep her in line, and she was at the same time intrigued by the new challenge this leap might entail, and furious that it.

In addition to dousing her plasma powers, the device beeped audibly when she tested its capabilities, alerting the guards to her arousal despite the lengths she took to seem inert after her return to consciousness. Subterfuge failing, Shego sighed and opened her eyes fully, scooting into a sitting position, and glaring at the men watching her. They snapped-to instantly, tightening up on their stun rifles, eyeing her suspiciously for a moment before one of them signalled a physician. Then, with trained caution and vigilance, the agents approached, training said stun weapons on her as they flanked the doctor.

The grizzled older man had a military look to him, his wrinkled cheeks clean shaven and his gray hair cut into a tight flattop, exhibiting neither fear nor distaste as he examined her. He had the air of someone who had treated both ally and enemy over the years and had long discarded the distinction between them. He looked vaguely familiar, but the woman could not identify his name, or when she had met him before.

After he seated himself at eye level with her, the doctor silently checked her over, starting with her iris reactivity, next checking for signs of swelling in her head by rubbing both her temples and the base of her skull with his fore and middle fingers, while watching for any signs of pain. Then he gently probed several points on her skin that, from his insistence on them, she assumed had bore bruises or cuts a short while before. Apparently satisfied, he grasped her lower wrist and took a pulse. At the same time, he asked her diagnostic questions in a gravelly, business-like voice.

"What day is it?"

"May 25."

"How many fingers?"

"Four."

"And now?"

"Two."

"The vice president is?"

"Not the world's best hunter."

"What's your name?"

"Nice try Doc."

"Well, the stuff upstairs seems to check out." He said, backing off and making notes on a clipboard he carried. "You know, every time you come in here, I think I've seen the limit of what your powers can do. And every time you give me enough new material to write another medical journal."

Shego remained quiet, staring at the elderly man strangely.

"I don't expect you to remember me," he continued, looking up only long enough to see the look on her face, "most the time I see you you're up to your eyeballs in sedatives and tranquilizers. But sufficient to say, had you been a regular woman with a regular life, I would qualify to be your family doctor. I'd like to say I've treated all the wound's you've sustained while being brought into custody, but your body usually doesn't give me much time to actually do anything. So it be more accurate to say I've catalogued them."

"Well, I'd shake your hand, Doc, but, I'm sort of tied up at the moment..." the young woman quipped, lifting her hands palms up inside their bindings.

"Might want to hold off there, those cuffs were built to my specifications." He said absentmindedly, clicking his pen closed and turning to the nearest agent. "She's ready for questioning. I believe Dr Director had B9-117 set aside for her. Remember, don't depend on the shackles alone."

The four agents then escorted the green villainess out of the ward to an elevator, moving her through a maze of corridors, and eventually through a pair of heavy, windowless doors into the interrogation room. It was furnished in exactly the way you might expect, a single table with armless chairs centered in the middle of an otherwise empty room. One wall was taken up by a two way mirror, the others were padded with a dark grey foam. One of the agents directed her to sit on the single chair on the left side of the table. She complied without comment, and the agent, along with a partner stood themselves at the door. The other two left the room, Shego guessed to stand outside the door in the same way their compatriots did inside.

And so she sat in silence for several minutes, not even able to twiddle her thumbs for entertainment, until the door swung open, allowing Dr Betty Director and Kim Possible into the room. The two generations of hero, one before hers and one almost the same, sat on the opposite side of the table, Betty placing a stack of folders to the right of where she eventually rested her loosely knitted hands. Kim painfully lowered herself into the chair next to the director, and glared at her nemesis, a gesture Shego gladly reciprocated.

"Welcome back to Global Justice Headquarters, Ms Go." Dr Director began, "I trust my medical staff has seen to any pressing injuries?"

"Yeah, that old battlewagon you call a doctor looked me over. What about poor Kimmie though? She looks terrible; even worse than usual." Shego replied, shifting her glance to Dr Director. Though she had broken off eye contact, she could sense Kim had maintained her end of the stare-down, and was grinding her teeth after her jab.

"Miss Possible is fine. Now, before we begin, can I get you anything to make you more comfortable? Something to drink perhaps?"

"Okay, Dr Director. Can I have lime Kool-Aid with a big loopy straw?" Shego snorted immediately at the suggestion, jingling the bulbous devices slung on her wrists before the senior agent. Betty's expression didn't change, even as Shego saw Kim's eyes bulged in her head through her peripheral vision, and she continued.

"Very well. I was going to offer to have those cuff's removed, but as you are relaxed enough for sarcasm, I think we can begin the questioning. You are more than aware of your rights, and the list of charges against you is too long to review before sun-up, so I'll forgo reading those articles. Can I assume you will waive the right to a phone call and legal representation, as per usual?" The green villainess nodded.

"Still can't stand lawyers."

"Then let's start at the beginning, shall we? What are the details of Dr Drakken's most recent criminal action, pertinent to the goals and method he intended to apply to reach these goals?"

"Kimmie was there for the rant. Why don't you ask her?"

"I have, but Kimberly does not have many of the technical details I require."

"And why should I tell you anything?"

"If you are forthcoming now, I can make certain accommodations to your upcoming incarceration."

"What sort of accommodations?"

"This is a one-time offer, Ms Go." Betty replied, flipping the cover off of a PDA. "The assistance you extend by co-operating us in good-faith is part of the deal. Now, proceed. And bear in mind Kimberly is here to confirm or deny what she can about your story. What she can't will come to light after the forensic investigation of the lair."

_Not much point keeping tight lipped. _Shego thought. _Might as well make this stay as comfortable as I can._

"He was going to try and destroy the world economy by travelling back in time and introducing fast food a couple decades early. The methods included a time machine and a large bag of Nacos."

"Where was the technology required for this plan acquired?" Dr Director continued, jotting down the response with her stylus.

"Well, I imagine the Nacos would have come from Bueno Nacho. As for the time machine, I think that was all Dr D for once." Shego said, slipping in her recovered composure as she dipped her head slightly. Dr Director didn't react visibly, though the villainess wouldn't stake very good odds at the brunette missing even that minor cue. Kim, however, overlooked it as she stifled a sneeze that sounded suspiciously like "Yea, right."

"Can you explain what occurred after the time machine malfunctioned?"

"You mean that guy in the camo? You got me. I didn't build the thing, Dr D did. And even if he was still alive, I doubt he could tell you exactly what happened. Like your doctor said, my powers, and everything they touch, tend to repel from the explainable."

"So you maintain that Dr Drakken is dead?" Betty asked, looking up.

"You sound surprised, Dr Director." Shego pointed out glibly.

"She didn't think you'd be dumb enough to tell the same lame lie twice, Shego." Kim laughed caustically, rolling her eyes. Shego tensed, setting the glow power suppression warning off on her restraints. Seeking to keep nurse Calenn's warning in Kim's mind, Dr Director touched the agitated young woman's shoulder, to quiet her, before turning back to the subject of the inquiry.

"You may not think much of Global Justice, Miss Go, but please give us more credit than missing the death of the criminal underworlds most notorious names."

"Well, this interview isn't building any respect your organization, Dr Director." Shego taunted indignantly, "I saw it happen over one of _your_ surveillance drones."

"I'm afraid I have no reports as such, Miss Go."

"Well, that certainly says something about who you have working here, doesn't it ma'am?"

"Give it up Shego. No one believes your bogus story." Kim blurted, the more-significant-than-usual effect of Shego's presence carrying over from earlier that morning. The criticism of one of someone who was a personal role model and hero, not to mention one of the world's most renowned humanitarians, kept stressing the teen's control over her emotions. Once again, Dr Director had to calm her down. This time Shego paid it no attention, continuing on with the conversation with the elder woman.

"Look, Dr Director, I'm trying to be compliant. So far I haven't lied, why would I press this issue? What do I have to gain? Assault and kidnapping aren't exactly big ticket offences for me, how does covering for some half cocked revenge plot make any sense?"

"Even if we grant you Dr Drakken's death, what would compel you go to Kimberly's home? Surely you would have expected the hostile reaction you received from Kim and... Ron..."

Before the brunette could complete her thought, the door was pushed open again, and Ron and Wil Du entered. Kim, completely forgetting about Shego, leapt from her chair and threw her arms around her boyfriend.

"Ron! You're okay!" the cheerleader squealed between sobs and giggles of joy, "I'm so, so, so sorry for leaving you alone downstairs. What happened? Did Shego hurt you?"

"It's okay KP. I'm fine. Shego didn't do anything to me, she just wanted to talk." Ron cooed, pulling Kim's head away from his shoulder and smoothing her auburn locks.

"What?"

"See, no damage, KP. At least not because of her. She's had a rough night too." he looked over at the raven haired women sitting on the far side of the table.

"Are you okay, Shego?"

The villainess kept her face schooled, but smiled to herself internally.

"Do I look okay, Stoppable?"

Ron chuckled to himself, then nodded towards Dr Director as he released Kim from his hug. The redhead was at a loss for words, glancing between Ron, Shego, and Dr Director.

"But... then..."

"It seems that Miss Go has been more truthful than we thought." Dr Director said warily, "However, I am still sceptical about the final piece of your story. We should be able to resolve that right now. Agent Du, you were on surveillance duty earlier tonight. What can you tell me about the status of Dr Drakken?"

At the mention of Drakken, Du, who had been standing near the door, stiffened sharply, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Betty snapped her head towards her field agent, glaring at him.

"Agent William H. Du, is Ms Go telling the truth about Dr Lipski's death?" Dr Director demanded, her voice cracking, the only time she had expressed any unbridled emotion for the entire interview. Du had completely lost the smug look that constantly adorned his face, and failed to meet his employer's eyes as he answered.

"Monitoring in southern Colorado detected a large explosion in one of Dr Drakken's labs. It is... likely that he was inside the building at the time."

Silence reined in the room as all eyes swung from Du back to the villainess; sombre re-affirmation from Ron and Shego, shock and horror from Kim and Dr Director. After a few long moments, Shego refocused on her nemesis, holding no guise of victory, superiority, even distaste on her suddenly older looking features.

"Are you happy now, Princess?"

* * *

I know this chapter wasn't particularly exciting. I'm trying to wind down Act I, but there's one ore two more surprises left in the next chapter, so stay tuned.


	9. Chapter 9

All standard disclaimers about my non-ownership of this apply. As do apologies for the length of time between updates.

A long overdue thankyou for the pile of reviews I received for the last chapter. All the comments were excellent. Please send more.

* * *

Chapter 9: Killing Two Birds with One Stone

"Oh God... Shego, I... I'm... Oh my God..." Kim stammered, covering her mouth with both palms, staring at the table for a second before trying to meet the villainess's eyes. When she found Shego's emerald gaze, however, the other woman turned away, allowing a thick lock of her raven hair to fall and cover the profile of her features. Then, before the grimly re-educated heroine could try to assert herself more strongly, Dr Director grabbed back onto the wildly spinning steering wheel of the conversation.

"Mr Du, agents, Team Possible, hallway, now." Betty bit out stiffly, her jaw taunt with much carefully diverted rage. Will and the two guards immediately spun and trooped out of the door, knowing just how livid their employer had to be to actually display her anger. To all three, and to Will in particular, hesitation might as well be suicide.

Kim did not immediately rise, torn between obeying what was clearly an order from the woman who would likely be her boss one day, and making amends for actions, her actions, that now sickened her. In the end it was up to Ron to gently lead his disquieted girlfriend into the hall. Betty was the last person to exit, shutting the door behind her securely. Once in the hall, she turned, finding Du instantly, and advanced on him like a lion on a cornered antelope.

"Would you mind explaining to me, Mr Du, why I am finding out about the death of an alpha-classification criminal second hand from VNN!? In the middle of an interrogation with his partner, no less?! Answer well, and answer fast, because I am_ this_ close to throwing you into the cell meant for Shego!"

"It's... it's all in my shift report, commander." Will stammered, "It should be on your desk tomorrow."

"TOMORROW?!" the director fumed. "Agent, what part of alpha-classification don't you understand?! It is right in the training manual; any major development involving an alpha is to be immediately communicated verbally to _me._" Betty stopped, grabbing hold of her brow and squeezing her eyes shut. This was exactly why she didn't trust the running of Global Justice to anyone else, even at subordinate levels someone always managed to take a sledgehammer to its delicate clockwork.

After a second, having calmed down a little, she continued. "Personally Will, I would say that 'death' is a fairly major incident, wouldn't you? Of anyone under my purview, I would have expected you could follow by-the-book procedure like that."

Will took in a breath to respond, but decided to stifle it. Unfortunately for the dark haired man, Betty wouldn't have it.

"You have something to add?" It wasn't a question; it was an order to say what he had been thinking. Gulping down the bile-flavoured regret that he tasted in his mouth, Will complied.

"It's just Dr. Drakken, ma'am... it's not as if he merits that high a rating anymore..."

"That's not your call to make, Du." Betty hissed, "The recent decline of Lipski's abilities notwithstanding, his activities in the past have more than earned that threat-ranking. And in the end, that is immaterial. This organization depends on the fluid and accurate transfer of information; any omission, intentional or otherwise, overtly important or otherwise, can lead to hundreds, even thousands, of casualties. I won't allow Global Justice to fail the world because of a breakdown of communications, and if I can't depend on you to keep your personal assessments and prejudices secondary, I can't depend on you at all."

Will's shoulder's sagged as Dr Director turned to one of the other agents in the hall. "Jackson, escort Will Du to my office. And make sure he stays there."

After the guard had led Will away, Betty trained her attention on Kim and Ron, who had seated themselves on the floor across the hall from room 117.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Team Possible. Agent Du's poor judgment has... changed this situation entirely."

"You can say that again..." Kim murmured morosely. "I... can't believe what I said to her... 'It's about time.' Not even Bonnie would say something that cold... What is the matter with me?"

"You were following your instincts, Kimberly. If I had been told a story like that, something that sounded so convenient and in acquiescing to it could put me so at risk, I wouldn't have believed it either. And while I can't say that you handled the situation in the best way, you mustn't doubt those instincts. They are the most important tools you have. "

Kim seemed to take this in for a moment, before standing and meeting the older woman eye to eye.

"I... I need to talk to Shego again."

"Not now." Dr Director said, shaking her head and placing her hand on Kim's shoulder. "I still have to finish interviewing her, and I think it would be best if I handled the remainder it. I will make sure you will have the opportunity to make amends later, alright?"

Again, Kim took a moment to consider what had been said, before nodding.

"Stiles, please take Miss Possible and Mr Stoppable to the command center conference room. Get someone to retrieve their clothing and something to eat as well, I'll be along after I finish here."

As Agent Stiles began ushering the two teens down the corridor opposite the way Du had been led, Ron turned back.

"Dr Director..." he began unsurely.

"Yes, Ronald, what is it?"

"I know this is your job, and you know what to do and how to do it, but please... Shego... Shego is a good person. She's made some bad choices, but this has probably been the hardest night of her life tonight. Don't... don't make it any worse for her than it has to be."

Betty smiled slightly at the blonde.

"Don't worry, Mr Stoppable. I only have to discuss what will happen now with Shego. I don't intend to try to aggravate any wounds."

(o) (O) (o)

Shego, who hadn't moved since the Global Justice entourage left, looked up as the door opened to reveal the returning Dr Director. Without saying a word, the other woman walked up to her, withdrew a key card and swiped it over the cuffs on the villainess's hands. With a click, the bindings released. As the brunette removed the devices from her hands, Shego spoke.

"What's this for?"

"Simply put, Miss Go, you decided to trust the side of good, and we mishandle that trust. This is my attempt at beginning to rectify that."

"You're just... letting me go?" Shego asked, sure she was losing it. Betty confirmed that she was.

"No, I'm not quite that generous."

With that, Dr. Director pulled a chair up and sat across from Shego again. She interlaced her hands together and rested them on the table between them, and looked the green villainess in the eye for long moment. Shego returned the stare for a while, but after Betty did not speak for about a minute, she began to shift uncomfortably.

Global Justice might have been inept at times, enough to have rarely deterred her and her comrades from living their lives out in the criminal way they did, but the Director herself was another matter. From how the Director carried herself, and how her eyes bored into her now, Shego was reminded that she was not a person to be taken lightly, despite the failings of some of her underlings. Though it would never be admitted openly, Betty intimidated Shego somewhat, and that was a feat, especially since she had yet to speak a threatening word.

"How many times have you escaped from one of our holding facilities, Shego?" The brunette asked finally.

"What?" Shego replied, startled the sudden appearance of her roommates voice.

"It's not a trick question, Ms Go. How many times do you think you have escaped a Global Justice penitentiary?"

The younger woman considered this for a moment before answering.

"More times than I can count." She answered eventually, shrugging slightly to show she wasn't simply being smart.

"The exact number is 37, dating back to before you became a criminal. On average, you spend less than 4 days in custody, and hold the all-time break-out record at a grand total of 24 minutes incarceration. The longest we have kept you confined is 3 months, 1 and a half of which you were kept under heavy sedation."

"What can I say? I don't like how the jumpsuits clash with my complexion." Shego retorted, smiling slightly. She knew about her record, and was actually quite proud of it.

"Indeed." Betty said dryly. "Out of curiosity, how much do you think your getaway streak has cost, both in repairs and the man-hours I've diverted to hunting you down?"

"I don't know... hopefully more than you're paying Du."

"Significantly more. How does 11.5 million sound? A year."

Shego was barely able to keep her jaw from dropping at the figure. Unfortunately, it seemed something still showed on her face. Betty grinned slightly at her surprise, as she continued.

"In fact, cost of your apprehension, detention, and subsequent evasion factors into our budget. I'm sure you'll be amused to know that 0.12 percent of GJ's yearly overhead is referred to as the 'Shego Portfolio."

"Not that this isn't fascinating and all, but do you think we could skip it?" Shego said impatiently. "Or are you trying to make sure I don't shave a few minutes off my best time?"

After two conflicts with Possible, the redheads attempted apology notwithstanding, she was back into a fighting mood again, and the fact that the brunette already had the answers to the questions she was asking was rubbing her the wrong way. Betty didn't seem to notice Shego's riposte, however, and continued on.

"It seems you've made an impression on Mr Stoppable."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Just a casual observation." Dr Director said smoothly. "We at Global Justice have monitored Team Possible for several years now, and I assure you, as staunch an element of good Ronald is, he can be swayed into forgiving any transgression against him, even by someone who is completely undeserving of it. Even people who have antagonized someone as close to him as Kim. And as Agent Du has now confirmed that your story checks out, I imaging that the trust he has already extended to you might increase substantially."

"And I care... why?" Shego replied, suddenly finding it very hard to find her normal aloof-sounding timbre. She was well aware of the answer to her own question, and Betty's prying instantly became more threatening.

"Oh, I'm certain you don't. Again, I just thought you might find this entertaining. As much as I like Mr Stoppable, sometimes I can't help but agree with Will. Amateurs truly can be mind-bogglingly stupid."

"Ron is NOT stupid." Shego snapped back, before she could even think about what she had said. Betty didn't skip a beat though.

"Come now Shego. No one has pointed that out on more occasions than you. You've always been able to recall Ron's actual name, yet you never hesitated to refer to him as 'the Buffoon.'"

"I..." The green woman began. She now had time to control what she was going to say and she began to chamber another cold reply, but the same feelings that made her jump to Ron's defence just a second ago would not allow her to downplay her past errors.

"That was a mistake."

"Beg pardon?"

"I was wrong about him, alright?" Shego growled.

_Damn him, _she thought. Again, Stoppable was making her do something she'd never have done otherwise, admit she had been wrong. Somewhere, Reticence was celebrating a huge moment of emotional growth for Shego, but most of the woman hated that this weakness had appeared, just as Desire had promised. But, the green villainess hadn't changed enough yet to realise that retreat was sometimes a viable option, and pressed on. "And so are you. He's more intelligent and kind-hearted than any kid has any right to be."

Dr Director set silent again for a few moments, the deep, penetrating stare having returned. Then, when she started talking again, all the steel fell from her voice, and was replaced by a much lighter tone. "It's interesting how wise compassion becomes when you are in need of it, isn't it Ms Go? Ron has a truly profound gift, being able to genuinely feel that for anyone, to be willing to absolve sins without question rather than avenge them, even after the world has been as unforgiving to him as it sometimes has. You should count yourself lucky to know him, even in the circumstances you do."

"What's the point of these questions?" Shego snarled. She was being psycho-analysed again, but this time she didn't appreciate it in the least.

"I just wanted to test a theory. As I had hoped, it looks like Ron has made something of an impression on you as well."

"You mean this was all just a litmus?"

"Don't act so shocked, Shego. You've been in your far share of interrogations, you should know half the time it's not the answers that matter, it's how the prisoner reacts to the questions."

"I take it, that since you've decided you don't need the cover anymore, you have what you want?"

"Correct, Ms Go."

"And it's back to the cell with me then?"

"No, not this time Shego. We just went over your confinement record. If history is any indication, we won't hold you any longer than we have before, even with Dr Macintyre's new innovations. And I am tired of going to sleep with you behind bars one night and waking up to find out you're on the loose again. So, it's time to try something new."

(o) (O) (o)

Being back in her own clothing and having a little bit to eat, along with the always comforting sensation of being held in the arms of her ever-present blonde source of strength did a lot to steady Kim's nerves. But, she was far from free of the worries this night had conjured. Even with the comatose soldier waking, and with his recovery so much of what had doused her usually unflagging optimism receding, Drakken's now confirmed death, and Shego's unexpected... human frailty and pain marshalled in new doubt and sorrow to take its place. More than anything, the callousness, the raw heartlessness of what she had said to Shego made her ask questions of herself she had never thought would be conceivable.

Dr Director's words about instinct sounded good, but in her heart, Kim knew that it wasn't simply a gut feeling that had told her Shego had been lying. In fact, it wasn't that at all. It had been anger. She had wanted to avenge herself on Shego, take the hurt and the doubt she had felt about herself after almost letting someone die, and release all that dark energy on the villainess. Damning the consequences, she had wanted Shego to feel what she had felt, and all the while Shego had been feeling something far worse. It wasn't that she had missed the sincerity of the villainess's anguish, but that she didn't allow herself to see it.

Where had her compassion been? Was it so easy for her to lose what in the end really divided the good from the bad? It was supposed to be unshakable, it was supposed to be indestructible, it was supposed to be woven into her very being.

Ron, with the truly deep perceptiveness that he had, and that she so often forgot, sensed her discord and tightened the embrace of his arms around her, stifling her angst for a few glorious seconds. And in those seconds she was able to think clearly for the first time in several hours.

There was nothing that could be done about Drakken. They said she was the girl that could do anything, and she even believed it sometimes, but death was something beyond silly catch phrases. What she could do, what she needed and wanted to do, was avail herself to Shego for forgiveness, and to help her. She just hoped Shego would be willing to take it.

What appeared to be the first chance for her to start this endeavour came almost as soon as she had decided upon perusing it, with Dr Director leading an unbound Shego into the room from the far corner. Kim jumped from her perch in Ron's lap immediately, and with her boyfriend following close behind, jogged to meet the two women at the half-way point of the room.

The director looked a great deal recovered from her bout with Will Du, her gait calm and her features light once again. Shego, on the other hand, looked like she was about to throw up.

"I've completed Shego's questioning," Betty said once the two teens reached her. "However, there is one other matter that needs to be addressed."

Taking this as her nod to say what she had to say, Kim swallowed and spoke.

"Shego, I know there's nothing I can say to take back what I said last night... it was ferociously cruel and unforgivable, but I want you to know I'm sorry, and I'm willing to do anything to make it up to you."

Shego closed her eyes tightly, like it had stung to hear those words. Kim had expected scoffing, some sarcastic reply maybe, but this reaction puzzled her. She began to step toward the villainess, but before she could Shego took a step back and re-opened her eyes.

"Save it, Kimmie. Unless you really mean that, you aren't going to like what about to go down."

Confused, Kim looked back at the brunette who was now at her side.

"I'm coming home with you." Shego said, answering the unspoken question. Kim's eyebrows arched skyward at this statement.

"She is referring to the assignment I am about to request both yours and Ronald's services in performing." Betty clarified without further prompting. "I would like Team Possible to take direct custody of Shego. Kim, I'm sure like no one else you are aware of just how prolific Shego is at escaping from our detention centers. She is so proficient at it that Global Justice has exhausted all conventional legal means of keeping her confined, save one. What I'm asking of you is voluntary, but please consider it seriously, because I do not do this lightly."

Kim was still at a loss for words, something that had happened on far too many occasions that might, so once again Ron took a more active role.

"How would that go?" The blonde asked,

"It would be similar to how house arrest is conducted. Shego would be confined to Middleton under surveillance, and required to wear a plasma-proofed monitoring band at all times. During the day you would be free to conduct you daily activities as you normally would, but at pre-determined times she would have to report in to either Kim or yourself, and would have to stay at one of your residences for the night-time hours."

"So basically it's a gentlewoman's agreement for her not to bolt?"

"Not quite, but close. Global Justice has frozen any of Shego's assets that we know of, and will actively continue doing so as more are uncovered. Considering the fact that she came to be in your custody of her own accord tonight, and in most cases Team Possible is responsible for bringing her in anyway, there are few people I would say are better suited for this role. However, should she violate this agreement I will have no choice but to make use of that last legal apparatus and transfer her to Guantanamo Bay prison, where she can be held using different methods than those that are permissible in the United States." The brunette took a heavy breath. "The rights and freedoms that we in the free world have, even those regarding the treatment of prisoners, are what I have dedicated my life to protecting, and Camp Delta flies in the face of a great deal of those freedoms. I truly do not wish to send any of the criminals that I have jurisdiction over to such a place, but I can no longer turn a blind eye to all the escapes, and subsequent actions that certainly can be defined as acts of terror, that Shego has carried out."

Kim watched as Ron gulped worriedly, and glanced at Shego to try and gauge her. She looked extremely uncomfortable to say the least, obviously not thrilled in the least at this turn of events.

_Well, you got exactly what you asked for, Kim, _the red head thought to herself. _If you want to look at yourself in the mirror tomorrow and be able to say you actually tried to live up to your word, this isn't even a choice._

"What do you think, KP?" Ron asked. Kim took one last glance at Shego, then looked to her boyfriend. She saw the commitment in his eyes, and the worry. This only confirmed what she had to do. She couldn't condemn Shego, when she had a chance to offer her salvation. She turned to the older woman.

"You can count on us, Dr Director."

(o) (O) (o)

William Du had never been sent to 'the office.' Not in the way he had just been, anyway. Throughout his entire life, from primary school all the way into the Air Force Academy, he had kept his nose clean, stayed on the top of his class, been amongst all his professor's favourite pupils. The only times he'd ever had to go to the Office of the Dean, or the Commandant, was to receive some sort of commendation, or his acceptance into Global Justice. Never for a punishment.

He could still remember the excitement he had felt when he found out GJ had contacted his superiors inquiring about his plans for the future. From that point on he had redoubled his efforts, spurred on by the chance to work for the world's foremost international police and security force. It was a dream come true when he received his commission. He could serve the world, and he had no doubt he would be in the upper echelons of its administration in only a few years.

Fast forward to now. He spent most of his day hours staring at a display screen, sifting through data regarding the mostly mundane activities of criminals that were hardly worth the title of villains, let alone super-villains. He wasn't sure over which hole of golf he watched Killigan go double bogie on or hour of Camille Leon's dressing and redressing herself that he realised he had lost his interest for the job he did. But he was sure when he lost his respect for it, and that was when he was first ordered to baby-sit Possible and her boyfriend. Here he was, having spent 20 years preparing for what had turned out to be a job with minimal fieldwork and multitudes of boredom, diligently turning in meticulous reports on things as pathetic as what fabric softener Dementor used on his delicates, but somehow keeping the world in balance. Then, two kids start up a freelance crime-fighting team, and receive world accolades for it. No mention of that what they did was essentially conduct international vigilante mayhem, no. That was all glossed over by the fact that it was a cute cheerleader doing it. Under no restrictions, answering to no one, immune to any of the pages of foreign affairs legalities. No rules of engagement. And here he was, about to be punished, not for defying protocol, but failing to use the proper medium for following it.

And of course, he'd bite his lip and suffer through it. He knew he'd screwed up, and he'd take responsibility. But it was downright infuriating to see others congratulated for ignoring rules, while he had to follow them to the T.

With a beep, the office door unlocked and the director walked in carrying the files she had brought to the interrogation.

"That will be all, Jackson. Thank you." She said, dismissing the junior agent as she sat at her desk. After filing the folders and placing her PDA in its dock, she leaned back into her chair and rubbed her cheeks with both palms.

"I hope you realise the gravity of your actions tonight, Will. By now, whatever physical evidence we could have used to corroborate or contradict the reports of Dr Drakken's passing will have been significantly diluted, and any trail left behind is cold. If this is a trick, he could be anywhere in the world by now."

"So you think that Shego was lying after all?" Du asked.

"No, I believe that she truly thinks Drakken is dead. She was the one who set the charges in his lab; he had no knowledge of it."

"With respect to Lipski's past ma'am, do you really think that is a significant possibility? For him to orchestrate a fake death, on the fly no less, so well that even his partner would believe it?"

"That's exactly why we needed to be on-site immediately after the fact, Will. Now all we have to depend on for the facts is the steady-cam footage and the testimony of someone who was conducting a search and rescue operation, not a forensic analysis. I'm not saying that Dr Drakken is still alive... but we have lost any chance at finding hard proof either way." Betty sighed. She really wished she didn't have to do this part. "That is why I'm taking you off of surveillance duty and placing you under review."

"How long?" Will asked, though he already knew the answer. He did, after all, know the protocols, no matter his mistake that night.

"Four months, with diminished pay. I'm afraid you will also lose your position as a field commander for that period as well." Betty answered evenly, as she turned in her chair. She retrieved a thick, well worn book that was labelled 'History of the 20th Century,' and passed it across her desk to the dejected agent.

"Whenever I have doubts about how dangerous some of the criminals we pursue are, I flip through this. I've marked and made notations about all the historical events that these men and women have effected behind the scenes, the things that couldn't be put into print for the good of public peace of mind. Since you will have more free time than normal, I suggest you familiarize yourself with just what Drew Lipski has done in his lifetime. His data in blue. Start looking for it in the chapters regarding the fall of the Soviet Union."

Du nodded silently as he accepted the tome, and stood to leave. When he opened the door, he nearly ran into Captain Mason, who was preparing to knock.

"Is this a bad time, director?" He asked as Du shuffled past and cut down the hall outside.

"No, no Arnold. Come in." Betty replied, letting out a long, cleansing sigh as she unclasped the neck-piece of her uniform and ran her hand through her hair. It struck her that she had unwittingly begun to relax around the captain, despite the still professional conditions, though she supposed it might have been a result of what had been happening in the past few hours. It had been as bad a night as she had had in some time. And a lot more lay ahead. There was a veritable bevy of problems that putting Du on restricted duty entailed, not the least of which was finding a new agent to direct units on the ground. Even considering his pigheadedness, he was a valuable person with a great deal of hard to replace skills. The gamble she was taking with Shego and Ron was another worrisome prospect that she was sure she was going to lose sleep over. So far, however, Arnold had managed to buck the trend and had been the bearer of, if not exactly good, less rattling news. She keyed her intercom and asked the mess hall to have two cups of coffee brought up before she spoke to the captain again.

"What do you have from William Doe?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. In terms of short term memory and functionality, his mind is fine; language and motor skills are at expected levels for someone of his apparent age, he is aware of his surroundings and is able to communicate and complete simple problem solving exercises without much effort. But in the long term, he is almost completely amnesic. On his own he doesn't remember exactly who he is or where he's from or what he was doing before he appeared here."

"So he can't tell us anything about his technology, or what attacked him?"

"That's the bad news."

"There's good news?"

"The memories are still there."

"But I thought you said..."

"I said on his own, he isn't able to recall any specific details about his life. However, he does on some subconscious level remember things, and comprehends that he isn't where he's supposed to be. For example, when the doctors performed a CT scan, off-hand he referred to the MRI machine as an antique. And when they suggested several examples of what his name might be, he was able confirm that it was William."

"What does that mean? It's a psychological condition?"

"Precisely. It's not brain damage that is causing his amnesia, it's some form of self-synthesised mental barrier, most likely erected to prevent the traumatic experiences he survived from being recalled. There's a whole pile of psychiatric gobble-de-gook in the file, but the important thing is the memories are still there in his head, we just have to coax them out."

"How long will it take?" the director asked. Mason hesitated for a second, considering how to best answer that most important of questions.

"Amnesic recollection isn't an exact science, Dr Director. It could happen spontaneously, or it could take years. It might not happen at all. All we can do is expose him to memory cues, physical objects or the fragments of what we do know about him, and hope that it will trigger a chain reaction that breaks down the barricade."

"So, in essence we are back to square one."

"Not really. We can find out plenty just from his peripheral activities. Like what happened with the MRI. Right there is something we couldn't accomplish with him in a coma."

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of another agent with the coffee Betty had requested. They both took their mugs and nursed a few drinks as the agent left.

"Did you find anything out about Mr Stoppable's light-show?" Arnold asked after the pause. Betty took another drawn out sip of her beverage before answering.

"I have set something in motion that has a reasonable chance of gathering us more information about it, yes."

"Set something in motion?" Mason repeated with a grimace. "Respectfully director, I don't like how CIA that sentence sounds. Why not simply ask about what it was? He is on our side, after all."

"I don't think asking would do any good. I mentioned the flash to Miss Possible, and she had no idea what I was talking about. If Ron hasn't told Kim about what it was that he did, there is virtually no chance he would tell me. It's also entirely possible that he himself has no idea what happened."

"Then what did you do?"

"I've... put Ronald and Kimberly in charge of Shego's internment. It is my hope that with the three together in close quarters for an extended period of time will encourage a recurrence of that phenomena, by accident or otherwise."

"That sounds awful risky to me, Betty." Arnold mused, putting his mug down. "I mean, if this is out of his control wouldn't it be safer to let it flesh itself out on its own, rather that trying to reproduce what we have observed to be a very dangerous reaction by just throwing three unstable elements into the mix together?"

"I'm not sure this is any more risky than trying to bring back memories of near dismemberment and complete and utter fear, captain."

"That's different, it's being done under controlled circumstances with an entire hospital of doctors ready should something go wrong."

"And it would be better to let Stoppable continue walking around with what amounts to a bomb strapped to his chest? You heard what he did to the Possible's kitchen; at least this way we have some control over the stresses and pressures being applied to him. And with his involvement in ensuring Shego's confinement we have the justification for having more monitoring equipment around him, as well as more frequent checkups by our agents without raising suspicions if he is hiding something."

"I don't know, ma'am. It still sounds like striking a match in a power-keg to me."

Betty nodded, before picking up her PDA again and activating it. A solution had just presented itself. "Well, if your concerns are so strong, there is something you can do. Tell me Arnold, would you be interested in taking on a temporary field assignment?"

(o) (O) (o)

Ed woke to the sun rising in the windshield of his Duster, the cool morning air fighting with the warmth the rays of light provided. After about 15 minutes of trying to battle his way back into dreamland, where a garage of fix 'er up cars of every make and model always waited, Ed swept his old blanket onto the floor and sat up. It took a moment for him to gather up what had happened the night before from the foggy recesses of his memory, but once he did he realised that Drakken was absent. Crawling his way franticly over the front seat, Ed found a note taped to the steering wheel. A shiver that had nothing to do with the coldness of the morning traveled through his body as he read it.

_Don't look for me Ed, by the time you read this, I'll be long gone. _

_Thank you again for your insight last night. It brought about an invigorating change of perspective and has revitalized me in more ways than you can imagine. Over the next few months I will set about rebuilding my old empire, and when it is complete, you will have a place of comfort and power within it. All I ask is you restrain your own attempts on the existing world order._

_Enjoy the ride,_

_Dr Drakken_

_P.S. It would be best, at least for the time being, that I remained dead to the rest of the world. Destroy this message and any evidence I was ever with you last night. I trust that you will keep this information to yourself, and you would do well not to betray that. Soon enough those who have will understand just how bad a choice that is._

* * *

So ends Act I. Wow... 9 chapters of exposition... that might be a record.


End file.
